Twice in a Lifetime
by lafemmefantome
Summary: What happens between the time of 1870 when the Opera Populaire has burned and 1919 when Raoul makes a final visit to Christine's gravesite? Can Erik truly find love . . . Twice in a Lifetime?
1. Default Chapter

The night was wet and bitter cold. Rain covered the ground, creating the illusion of a seamless body of water from which there seemed to be no clear end. All that was missing was thunder and lightning to complement what would have been a truly dark and dreary night. For Erik, none of that seemed to matter.

He ran as fast as he could, barely recalling the events of the past twenty-four hours. The only thing Erik knew was that he was very cold and he hurt. He fled from the destruction of the opera house, unsure of where he was heading. He knew one thing though…he had to hide, to escape, to flee…as he had done so many times before.

Christine had been his muse. She was his reason for being. For so long, he toiled in darkness, not knowing his reason for living. Then one day, her voice and the sweetness that accompanied it changed his life forever. Little by little, Christine came to know him through his music. Many times, she would visit him…her "angel of music." He would share his love of music and she turned gave him something he'd not had for quite some time; a passion for living. He was mentor, a friend and one day Erik had hoped…perhaps more. All of that changed the day that the Viscount de Chagny arrived at the Opera Populaire. From that moment on, Erik's descent into madness and despair seemed almost unstoppable.

That was then and this was now. Doubling over in pain, Erik realized that he still could feel the sting from the earlier blow. Thinking back, Erik remembered that when he awoke following Christine and Raoul's departure, he found himself tied to chair. He'd been struck from behind by someone who dared enter his lair. He couldn't be sure if he had heard the person. To be honest…he didn't care. With Christine gone, life held so little meaning for him. Focusing his attention on his current situation, Erik tried to move but was unable to do so. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder when he tried to break free from his bonds. Erik didn't know who had him held captive. He could only guess it was the police or someone from the lynch mob, out to exact retribution for Erik's earlier success or rather destruction of the opera house. For the first time, Erik was truly scared. If didn't break free of his bonds soon, he would die. Then, he mused to himself, _"Maybe he was better off dead."_

Erik's escape came in the unlikeliest manner. He realized that it was the lynch mob who had him. Foolishly enough, they'd left him alone for a moment. That was the chance he needed alone with Madame Giry. She'd managed to infiltrate the mob, waiting in the background, blending in, hoping for a moment when…she could help Erik once more. She'd convinced the mob, along with the help of her daughter Meg, that it would be best to fetch a wagon with which they could transport Erik to the prison. Now that they were gone, she made her move. Tugging as best she could, Madame Giry managed to free one of Erik's hands and eventually another. In a matter of seconds, he was completely free and immediately ran; proceeding further into the catacombs. He almost passed out.

Erik didn't know what the mob had done to him, but he knew was that he was extremely weak. He soon found light and made his way out onto the street. Erik did his best but unfortunately, he stumbled as a carriage rode by quickly, knocking him down in the process once more. Erik wasn't sure where he exactly was; his sense of direction twisted by the pain he felt in his body. The impact of cold ground on his already weakened body was almost more than Erik could stand. Somehow, perhaps through sheer will alone, Erik managed to begin walking down this dark cold and damp street. He needed to find a place…a place to call…home.

He walked for quite some time, not really sure of where he was heading. The alleyways and streets he passed began to blend together in one giant blur. Once more he doubled over in pain. His shoulder was hurting him again. In fact, his entire body was wracked with an almost unbearable throbbing. At the moment, Erik didn't care about the future. He didn't care about Christine, the Opera House, his music or even Madame Giry; his one true friend, the woman who first showed him kindness when he was so young. All Erik wanted to do was to sleep. He wanted to be released from the pain that never seemed to end. He was actually ready to surrender to the darkness.

Just then, almost as if by magic, a house appeared. It was small with no light shining from the inside. Erik stumbled towards the house, hoping that no one was at home. It seemed abandoned. He just wanted to rest for a short time and then he would find his way back to the catacombs of the Opera House.

Upon reaching the home, Erik fumbled with the door. 'Damn!' he thought to himself. It was locked; so much for wishful thinking. Looking around, Erik didn't see anyone. He decided that he would break into the house. No one would hear him and he would be gone before the owners returned.

Just as Erik was about to break a window, the door slowly opened. Standing before him was an angel, an angel in white.

"Help me . . . please . . ." Erik pleaded in a pitiful fashion as he collapsed to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Marie-Christine was surprised to say the least. Lying before her was a man who desperately needed her help and so, without hesitation, she dragged this stranger inside her small abode. She quickly closed the door and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Looking at this man's poor physical state did make Marie-Christine wonder if he was a beggar, a thief or perhaps . . . She quickly dismissed her other thought and turned her attention back to this dark stranger lying on her floor.

Fortunately, the stranger was not completely unconscious. "Come with me, I will help you," she offered.

The man could only respond with a small groan, pain quite evident in the grimace displayed prominently on his face. Marie-Christine continued to make her way to the bedroom. It, like much of her home, was small; barely enough space for a tiny double bed and for the moment Marie-Christine was its only occupant. A small wash basin was situated on a dresser and a small portrait of young man hung above the headboard of her bed.

Finally, Marie-Christine reached the bedroom. Once there, she guided the stranger to the bed and gently pushed against his chest, indicating he was to lie down. Once his head rested on the pillow, Marie-Christine begin a cursory examination of the stranger. Suddenly, a knock at the door forced her to put things on hold.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" She assured them as she closed the door to her bedroom. Marie-Christine looked around checking for any signs that would indicate this man's presence in her house. Blood was on the floor. Although it was not a great amount of blood, there was no way she could just explain it away. Just then Marie-Christine had an idea. She ran to the small basin she kept in her bedroom, dabbing her face with a damp cloth, she quickly wrapped a nearby towel around her head and another around her body.

The loud knock grew more persistent. Slowly Marie-Christine opened the door. "Yes?" It was a police officer.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late in the evening Mademoiselle, but we've had an escape. There's a very dangerous man running about. He may have had something to do with the incident at the Opera Populaire this evening. Have you seen anything?" The officer asked.

"No, officer I'm sorry. I haven't seen anything. What happened?" She responded, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice. Marie-Christine hoped the officer's questions would not take long. She needed to check on the man in her bedroom.

"Well the Opera Populaire was set ablaze when its chandelier crashed this evening. It was horrible, hundreds of people," The officer paused for a moment. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, a hint of concern showing in his voice. Apparently, he was looking down at Marie-Christine's legs and the pool of blood in which she was now standing.

"Well, I, uh . . ." Marie-Christine stammered as she looked at the floor. "It's well . . . kind of a lady thing . . . you know?" She hoped that a man's sense of squeamishness in this particular matter would dispatch him sooner rather than later.

The officer looked down once more at Marie-Christine's feet and noticed some small droplets of blood as well as some blood on her legs. It was at that moment he put it together. Feeling embarrassed, the officer quickly offered an apology. "I'm sorry for disturbing you Mademoiselle. If you do hear anything, please call out to officer on duty this evening. Okay?"

"Certainly," Marie-Christine answered as the bid the officer goodnight. She now focused her attention back to the stranger in her room. She was not sure of what occurred but she knew this man needed her help. Marie-Christine closed her eyes. She wanted to shut out the memories of long ago; memories of a future she could not ever have.

Entering the room, Marie-Christine was surprised to see that the man, whom she had placed in her room, was gone. Then without warning, Marie-Christine felt two strong hands now wrapped around her throat.

"Don't move! I'll kill you!" The stranger warned as a hiss escaped his lips.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, I sent the officer away." Marie-Christine responded, hoping to calm this man down somewhat. Taking a careful breath, she continued. "Allow me to help. The officer is gone. I don't know what kind of trouble you are in, but you have some wounds that need treatment."

Erik felt as if he had little choice. He couldn't remain conscious for very long and he knew it was not in his heart to kill just anyone. He needed to rest and he wanted to flee Paris as quickly as possible, however he had to have time to think. Then, if the fates allowed, he could start anew; even if it was without Christine. Erik then made a decision. He released the woman and allowed her to guide him back to the bed. He would have collapsed once more if not for this angel of mercy's help.

Marie-Christine smiled as she gently laid Erik's head back on the pillow. "Thank you. My name is Marie-Christine. What's your name?"

"Erik. My name is Erik," he answered, relaxing for the first time since his capture. Marie-Christine took notice of this and decided that now was a good time to begin her treatment.

She started with a cursory exam, noting where he had various abrasions, lacerations and bruises. Taking a small cloth in hand, Marie-Christine proceeded to dip it into the basin at her bedside. Gently, so as not to cause pain, she began to clean up the superficial scratches; her touch ever so light; causing Erik to release a breath he did not know he'd been holding. Marie-Christine came across one item that caught her immediate attention; Erik had a dislocated shoulder. "Erik, I need to adjust this" she informed him as she touched the damaged shoulder. Erik nodded in acceptance; trusting this angel of mercy to help release him from his pain and torment. Taking a small cloth that she had given him, Erik bit down, hoping to avoid or rather minimize his reaction to the impending onslaught of pain.

"Okay, on the count of three. I'm going to pop it back in. Ready?" Marie-Christine asked. Erik nodded once more. "One . . . two . . ." and then without warning, Marie-Christine popped Erik's shoulder back into place. The pain was excruciating; as if someone had stabbed him straight through the heart. The cloth, he had bit down on, muffled his one cry of pain. When everything was done, Erik closed his eyes and allowed his body the rest for which it ached.

Marie-Christine sat back for a moment, looking at her patient as it were. He was older, but perhaps no more than that of 35 or 36. There was a rugged and yet gentle appearance to his skin. His hair was that of golden hue; as if it were kissed by the morning sunlight. Erik's body seemed flawless in some areas; his chest was muscular, lean and taut. Yet, it also appeared that this man, this dark knight as it were, had seen more horrors that the average person of his age would have seen. One unique item that now caught Marie-Christine's attention was the mask covering the right side of his face. She was about to remove the mask when Erik stirred.

"Please . . . don't . . ." he pleaded; darkness invading his consciousness; allowing him only two words before he drifted back into his abyss. Marie-Christine acceded to Erik's wish, taking a moment to notice his eyes. They were the most mesmerizing green color she had ever seen; almost like an emerald shining in the night. She watched as his face began to relax. It appeared he was finally allowing himself a chance to rest; the pain slowly dissipating from each pore in his body. Little by little, the muscles that were once tense became still. Marie-Christine decided that she could finish her examination tomorrow morning. Staring at the sleeping stranger, she wasn't sure why, but Marie-Christine felt an attraction to Erik. She quickly dismissed her feelings, reminding herself that this attraction was purely physical. Emotionally it was not possible for Marie-Christine to love another. It was not allowed. Marie-Christine continued to treat Erik's other wounds, eventually calling it a night, two hours later. Pulling a chair nearby, Marie-Christine drew a small blanket around her and closed her eyes. She quickly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Did you think that you could hide from us forever?"_

"_What are you?"_

"_Tell us what we want to know and we will make your death painless."_

"_Answer us! Why did you kill Joseph Buquet? What did you to do Mademoiselle Daaé?"_

Erik refused to answer any of the questions put to him by his captor. His resistance was met by a sharp blow to his side accompanied by shouts from the mob. The pain coursed throughout his body. As Erik screamed in response, he hated the fact that he couldn't control his body; his pain. He was at his end. Erik had practically lost all sense of time. He knew he had been captured not more than seven, maybe eight hours ago. He surmised that he'd had about two hours of sleep since his capture. He had no idea as to where he was at the moment. Each time Erik attempted to close his eyes, he was awakened by the stinging sensation of a whip at his back. He had only been given water and a few sips at that; no food. Even then he wondered if there wasn't something else in the water. Now as struggled to stand; tied to a pole; hands hoisted above his head, Erik knew one thing; he was going die. The angry mob would have its pound of flesh.

_For many years, Erik hid in the depths of the Opera Populaire; lurking, watching and studying; taking the castoffs from above and little by little creating his own kingdom; his music's throne. For Erik, music was a strange master; it called to him; caressed his soul; brought him to the point of ecstasy and yet, it also teased him; almost to the point of madness. And then, one day… he heard…an angel._

Erik's thoughts were interrupted with yet another blow to his already weakened body. He didn't want to admit it, but the pain was excruciating. Erik had dislocated his shoulder earlier in one of the brutal beatings. He couldn't cry out or even fight back. Erik was powerless as he hung in the cold, damp, darkness. Suddenly and without warning, Erik felt the stinging sensation of a cat-o-nine tails on his chest. No questions were asked. The whipping continued and Erik screamed in agony. No one heard his cries for help.

"Chris . . . ti . . . ne . . ." he whimpered, a barely inaudible murmur escaping his lips. The beatings continued until Erik realized . . .

. . . that it was a dream or rather . . . a nightmare. Erik awoke to find his body sheen in perspiration. He looked around the room and saw Marie-Christine sleeping in a nearby chair. He tried to move quietly in order not to wake her; hoping to leave and run once more, but it didn't work. The nightmare was in fact a reality. His torture was not a dream. It really happened. The pain he felt was evidence of that fact. Erik let out a small groan when he moved his injured shoulder, prompting Marie-Christine to open her eyes.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" She asked, a smile emerging from her lips.

"Okay. A little worn and actually . . . hungry." Erik's lack of food was now catching up with him.

Placing the blanket, that she used to keep herself warm during the night, at the edge of the bed, Marie-Christine smiled once more. "Well let's get you something to eat. Your shoulder shouldn't hurt too much longer, but I'd still take it easy."

Pulling back the covers, Marie-Christine offered Erik a pair of trousers, socks, boots and a simple shirt. Trying not to really look, she helped Erik to get dressed. It was difficult not staring, considering the fact that, although his face was partially covered, Erik's striking physique proved to be of more interest to Marie-Christine. Although he wasn't exceedingly muscular, Erik certainly would not be referred to as weak. The combination of the tautness and smoothness of the muscles in Erik's chest brought many thoughts to Marie-Christine's mind. From her perspective, Erik seemed to be so perfect, so charming, so . . .

"Where am I? What is this place?" Erik interrupted as Marie-Christine helped him slip on the boots. Marie-Christine stopped herself from daydreaming when Erik spoke. Recovering from her momentary reverie, she provided him with an explanation.

"You stumbled into my house. It's not much, but I call it home. You're safe for now. I think that's all you really need to know. Now what about some breakfast?" Erik did have to admit that he was indeed hungry. He was still a little hesitant, but so far, this woman seemed trustworthy. With a little help from Marie-Christine, Erik made it to the kitchen table and soon, she had managed to feed him a very satisfying breakfast. Although the breakfast was very simplistic in nature, it was very filling. Erik ate all the food that Marie-Christine offered and was actually a little embarrassed when he found himself asking for a second helping. He'd never asked anything of anyone; except Christine; and she betrayed him. Erik's thoughts were interrupted as Marie-Christine obliged his appetite with a second helping of food.

When Erik finished his breakfast, Marie-Christine sat down in a chair next to him and asked, "Well, would you like to clean up?" Erik wasn't sure what she meant, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Come with me," Marie-Christine indicated as she led Erik to her bathroom. One glance in the mirror told the story. He looked awful. It seemed as if he battled the devil himself and afterwards, he had the audacity to go back for seconds. He really did look like hell.

"Over here," Marie-Christine indicated as she pointed to small chair situated near the wash basin. Looking to his right, Erik saw something he'd only seen maybe once in his lifetime. It was called a bathtub he believed. It seemed to be made up of porcelain and was somewhat oblong in its shape; it's white color a stark contrast to the darker hues of the bathroom. Erik was still too weak to argue, and for the moment Marie-Christine seemed to pose no threat to his safety. She helped him undress and allowed him to sit in the chair with a towel wrapped around his waist. When the water was run, Marie-Christine helped ease Erik into the bathtub.

Taking a small washcloth in hand, Marie-Christine began to help Erik feel a little more normal. She gently dabbed at the scratches and marks which were littered across his face; taking care so as not to touch the mask that covered the one side. Then, she would gently lift or raise the part of Erik's body that needed to be cleansed. First, she raised each of his arms carefully, pouring a cup of heated water over the strained muscles. As she reached Erik's leg, she did her best to preserve the small element of modesty she had provided for him. He didn't seem to mind. During the entire time, his eyes rarely opened. Erik seemed to be in a trance-like state. He would open them once to look at Marie-Christine and then Erik would close his eyes again and allow himself to relax, his head tilting forward in the process. Marie-Christine's massaging hands along with the warmth of the heated water produced a slight moan from Erik. Marie-Christine smiled and continued with her ministrations. Her next step was to wash Erik's hair. Placing a small amount of soap in the palm of her hand, Marie-Christine began to massage the liquid into his scalp. Erik couldn't help but feel a momentary hint of pleasure. It felt as if Marie-Christine had been blessed with, "magic fingers." Her touch stirred feelings within him that he'd long thought he'd banished. He'd not felt this way since . . . Christine . . . since . . .

"Tilt your head back," Marie-Christine interrupted as she proceeded to rinse the shampoo from Erik's hair. Once more Marie-Christine found that the distinct and almost angelic features of Erik's face distracted her. She quickly reminded herself to focus on Erik as a patient of sorts to put those "other" thought and out of her mind.

"Okay. Lean back again." Marie-Christine requested. She needed to clean his chest. It was the most bruised part of his body, but she wanted to save it for last so as not to cause much pain. It was then, that Marie-Christine was able to take a really good look at Erik. The sight of it made her ill. He was covered in numerous welts and old scars. She didn't know why she hadn't seen them the night before. Marie-Christine had a strong suspicion as to who was responsible for Erik's pain. However she held her thoughts to herself.

"Chagny . . ." was the one word she allowed to escape her lips.

"What?" Erik asked in return, not sure of what exactly he had heard.

"Oh . . . uh who did this to you? Those animals need to be punished. I can't believe someone would do this . . . barbarity." Marie-Christine held her tongue, afraid that her emotions would betray her true thoughts and feelings.

Erik thought for a moment. What did happen? The last thing he remembered was watching as Christine and Raoul glided gently down the waterway beneath the Opera Populaire. He had broken some mirrors and stepped into a hidden passageway behind one of them. The mob had come; seeking their retribution. And then . . . he could recall no more. Each time he tried to remember, the pain would begin to come back. Erik closed his eyes. The headache he thought had long disappeared seemed to be inching back its way to torture him. He didn't want to experience the pain once more; the physical pain, the emotional pain . . . his life with the gypsies, the love and rejection he felt from Christine."

"Erik?" Marie-Christine interrupted.

"Sorry. I just can't remember right now." He answered, still holding his head in his hands.

"I'm sure it will all come back later." Marie-Christine placed a reassuring hand on Erik's shoulder. She knew the meaning of her words all too well. "Well, I'm done. Why don't you dry off and put on some clothes. I'll try to help you find your way home if you want. Just tell me what you want me to do." Marie-Christine left the bathroom and allowed Erik a moment to change.

The rest of the day continued with little fanfare. Erik ate some lunch and rested while Marie-Christine read a book and did some chores around her house. Periodically, she tended to Erik's wounds, using some ointments on his bruises and such. Although the pain did not permanently go away, Marie-Christine's massages seemed to make thing disappear for a time.

Later that day, Marie-Christine offered to help Erik get home. She wasn't sure what she could or would do, but she did promise to help in whatever way she could. While Erik was grateful for the offer, he was also a bit hesitant. He remembered the last time he allowed himself to care for another. Her name was Christine; his love for her consumed him; her rejection almost killed him. Erik wasn't sure he could stand losing another, even a stranger such as Marie-Christine. Another factor to consider was that of Marie-Christine. Erik knew Marie-Christine to be a puzzle that he could not yet resolve. She seemed so knowledgeable and resourceful. She also seemed to be a medical miracle of sorts; particular since she didn't seem to be a doctor. When Erik questioned her about these abnormalities, Marie-Christine could only provide a vague answer of, "My family taught me the importance of being alive." While the answer wasn't exactly what he wanted, Erik decided the best approach was to a take a "wait and see" attitude. Marie-Christine was becoming more and more of a puzzle that Erik was determined to solve.

Later that night, Erik awoke to the sound a crying. Stumbling in the dark, Erik found his way to the kitchen table he had breakfast at earlier in the day. Once there, he saw Marie-Christine holding or rather clutching a picture and crying. Quietly, he moved forward and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Marie-Christine?" He began.

It was at that moment that Marie-Christine turned and buried her head in Erik's chest. "Please . . . hold me . . . please Erik don't let go . . ." Erik was dumbfounded, but he continued to cradle Marie-Christine in his arms. This was one more piece to the puzzle of Marie-Christine that he had not anticipated. He wondered if he would have enough time . . . for what, he did not know.


	4. Chapter 4

Riddles; for many of us; a riddle can be different things. Riddles are presented to us throughout the greater part of our lives. It is often our sense of duty as well as an innate curiosity that leads to us to want to solve the mystery offered before our eyes. For Erik, Marie-Christine was indeed a riddle, the likes of which he had never seen. Each time he thought he a clue to as to her agenda, things would change. She was like an ever-changing puzzle, incredibly intriguing and yet difficult to solve. Now, as she lay crying gently in his arms, Erik was left to wonder the simplest question of all…why?

"Shhh…" he soothed, but it seemed to do little good. Then, Erik did the unexpected. He sang. It was the simplest of lullabies; something he remembered from his childhood. Madame Giry used to sing it to him; easing the loneliness he felt on those cold nights in the Opera Populaire. Slowly, Erik brought his left hand to the right side of Marie-Christine's face; caressing it gently; watching as the pain which tormented her earlier; slowly dissipate.

Marie-Christine was soon asleep. Erik watched as she slept in his arms. She clung to him much like a newborn child would cling to a mother. He sighed as he looked at the woman, cradled in his arms. Marie-Christine was so beautiful. She was small, perhaps standing a little more than five feet. She had the most piercing green eyes. Her long auburn hair gently framed her face; the soft curls further accentuating her radiant beauty. And then, there were those lips. They were full with a strong sense of something that Erik couldn't quite put his finger on at the moment. Gently, he traced his finger along the outline of her lips. She only offered a small murmur in response. Erik contemplated kissing those lips. It was as if they begged to be touched.

Although Erik longed to taste the sweetness in Marie-Christine's lips, he stopped short of actually carrying out the thought. At the moment, a battle was raging within Erik's consciousness. On the one hand, he knew he needed to flee Paris as quickly as possible. It wouldn't be long before the mob caught up with him once more; and he had no intention of simply surrendering to their bloodlust. Oddly enough and within a day, Marie-Christine had instilled something in Erik he thought he lost; his will to live. Erik also wanted to learn more about this very intriguing woman. Finally, he decided that one day more would not matter.

Carefully, and with some discomfort to his shoulder, Erik managed to carry Marie-Christine back to her room. Much like a father would take care of his daughter; Erik pulled the blankets back and gently placed Marie-Christine in her bed, tucking her in for the night. He left the room, but not before placing a small but chaste kiss on her forehead.

Morning came and with it, Erik woke to find Marie-Christine working busily in the kitchen of her abode.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" She asked.

Erik was a bit confused. Marie-Christine was behaving as if last night had never occurred. Glancing at the wall, he did notice the same small photo from last night; now positioned back up on the wall again.

"Who is she?" Erik asked.

Marie-Christine sighed, wishing she could block out the memories.

"That's Jeannette, my sister. She's dead." Marie-Christine paused for a moment, fighting back some impending tears.

"What happened?" Erik pressed further. He did not want to cause Marie-Christine pain by bringing back what were obviously some painful memories. However, he still wanted to learn what he could from this mysterious woman and their chance encounter.

"She was murdered," Marie-Christine responded as she began her story.

Marie-Christine's story was that of happiness that eventually turned to tragedy. Erik had the time and so he listened as she recounted the events of her childhood, her sister, and the unique and ultimately cursed gift both she and her sister possessed.

"I was born in a small village on the outskirts of Lyon. The makeup of Europe was constantly changing and so I don't even know if my birthplace still exists. Jeannette and I were twins, fraternal but twins nonetheless. While growing up, my father could tell there was something unique about us. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew we were special. There was one thing that we could do, that no other children in our village could accomplish. We were able to communicate with each other without moving our lips. Our father called it, 'twin talk.' Later I would learn that my talent actually had a name. It was called . . . "

"Telepathy," Erik interjected. Although many people dismissed the elements of the paranormal, often equating them with witchcraft, Erik learned from past dealings with the gypsies and others, that nothing was impossible.

"Yes telepathy; however our abilities were not limited to this one talent. Eventually we developed our skills in moving objects with our minds. It was about that time that a group known as "Fleur-de-lys" became interested in my sister and me."

"Fleur-de-lys?" Erik asked. He actually knew the answer, but he wanted to test Marie-Christine to see what information she would provide. Even though his attraction to Marie-Christine was growing more and more, his natural instinct to distrust seemed to always rear its form, no matter what the situation.

"Yes. Let me explain. The Fleur-de-lys is actually a group of elite assassins and gatherers of information. Their services are often sold to the highest bidder; whatever a client desires, his wish shall be granted; whether it is an assassination of a political figure or simply the company of a woman for the evening. Have you ever heard of them before?"

"No." Erik lied. He wanted to see how much further information she would provide to him.

"Well, there is one unique thing about the Fleur-de-lys that not many know." Marie-Christine continued.

"What's that?" Erik asked.

"Well the Fleur-de-lys is actually a group composed entirely of women. I'm not sure how it actually started. I do know that they are recruited and trained at a young age."

"Were you and your sister recruited?" Erik asked, not liking where this might be going.

"Actually, I was given to them by of all people my father. He was actually very naïve. My mother died shortly after giving birth to Jeannette and me. My father did his best to raise us. However, out telepathic skills combined with telekinesis was too much for him to handle. People in the village talked. They called us horrible names. Father feared for our safety. Then one night, a woman came and offered my father a chance to fulfill all of his dreams that he so desperately wanted for us."

"Who was this woman?" Erik asked.

"I don't know. I was only fifteen. I only remember that she wore a dark cloak. She promised that both I and my sister would be cared for at an exclusive school for gifted children. She said that the school only allowed girls and we would receive the finest of education. My father, not knowing any better, literally handed both my sister and me to this woman."

"What happened next?" Erik questioned.

"The moment we arrived, Jeannette and I knew that something was wrong. Over a period of months, we were slowly indoctrinated to the teachings of the Fleur-de-lys. We were told that if we did not comply, our father would be killed. Jeannette and I felt we had little choice. We studied hard and learned all that Fleur-de-lys could teach us. We were fearful for our father, but Jeannette and I both knew that knowledge was power. It would simply be a question of waiting for the right moment. We gradually became skilled in hand to hand combat; healing remedies and medical treatment among other things. When we reached eighteen, we were made full members of the Fleur-de-lys. However, we had one final ceremony to make our initiation into the group complete."

"What was that?" Erik had heard some things about the Fleur-de-lys but nothing about an initiation ceremony.

Marie-Christine paused once more, taking a sip from a glass of water that Erik had placed before her. "Every four years, Fleur-de-lys kidnaps a man for the rebirth."

"The rebirth?" Erik interrupted.

"Yes. A man is kidnapped. Usually it is someone that the Fleur-de-lys was hired to assassinate. Once they withdraw all of the information they need, he is drugged and given to the high priestess."

"What do you mean given?"

"In order for the Fleur-de-lys to grow, they have two options for recruiting new members. One is to mislead someone like my father into literally giving away his children. Remember, only girls are taken. Males have little use." Marie-Christine continued.

"So what is the other method?" Erik questioned.

"Well, you remember the man that is taken every four years?" Marie-Christine reminded him.

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, once he is drugged, he is brought to the bedchamber of the high priestess.

There, she mates with him. Once she is done. He is taken and placed into a wicker basket that is in the shape of a coffin. I'll never forget what happened the night of my initiation."

"Go on . . ." Erik urged.

Marie-Christine took a deep breath. She did her best to hold back the tears that were welling up in her eyes. "They set the basket afire. They feel that that the spirit of the man would guide the Fleur-de-lys for the next four years. The child that would be born from their union was to become the next high priestess. Erik at my initiation, I watched the man die. It wasn't until I heard his cries of agony that I knew who they had taken. Erik, they killed my father. THEY KILLED MY FATHER!"

It was at that moment, that Marie-Christine broke down once more. She buried her head into his chest. Erik sighed. He hated to push, but he needed answers if he was to know what to do next.

"Marie-Christine, I know this is hard, but I need to know, how did you escape? What happened to your sister?"

Marie-Christine raised her head, stifling a sniffle in the process. "Actually, once my sister and I watched them murder my father, Jeannette and I decided now was the time. We didn't know where we would go, but there had to be some place better that this hell hole. So, about a month or so after our initiation, Jeannette and I made our escape. What we didn't know, was that we were being watched. Apparently the Fleur-de-lys doesn't readily trust their new members and so they are observed for a period of anywhere from one to two years. On the night of our escape, Jeannette was killed with a knife to her back. I began to go back for her, when she cried out for me to run. She sacrificed herself for me. She said I had a gift that could heal many and so I should put it to good use."

"What do you mean a gift to heal?"

"It's better if I show you. Come over here. Lie face down and remove your shirt." Marie-Christine instructed as she pointed to the bedroom. Erik was a little bit hesitant, but he complied.

"When I was with the Fleur-de-lys, my sister referred to my gift as the 'touch.' I'm not sure how it actually works, but this is what it is.

With these words, Marie-Christine sat next to Erik, who was now lying face down on the bed. Placing her hands on his back, Marie-Christine began to run her hand up and down the length of his back. Erik closed his eyes. The touch felt pleasing, but otherwise no different. Then, without warning, Marie-Christine's touch changed. Erik began to feel more of a tingling sensation, almost like a burning on his back. However this time, he felt no pain.

Marie-Christine continued her ministrations for about a few minutes and then she abruptly stopped. Erik's curiosity was piqued. She stood back and waited for Erik to look at her. Once he turned towards in her direction, she unbuttoned her blouse and slowly lowered it; Marie-Christine turned so that Erik could now see her back. What he saw left him speechless.

The scars that once populated Erik's back were now transferred to Marie-Christine. Erik stood up and walked towards the mirror. His scars were gone. He couldn't believe what just happened. He looked back once more at Marie-Christine. The scars that were on her back only minutes ago, were now gone as well.

The fatigue from the experience showed on Marie-Christine's face. "I need to rest. That took quite a bit out of me."

Erik's astonishment was evident in the expression on his face. "How did you do that?"

"I am able to somehow absorb other people's physical traumas. In your case, I transferred the scares from your body to mine. You'll still feel some soreness, but otherwise you'll be fine."

Marie-Christine attempted to walk to the other room but collapsed into Erik's arms. He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her to the bed. He took a blanket from the quilt rack and covered her with it.

"I'll be okay. I just need to rest. Wait until nightfall. You can hide under the cover of darkness. There's a cloak in my armoire. I'm sure you can contact whomever you need to reach." Marie-Christine closed her eyes. Erik sat down in the chair next to the bed. His thoughts were interrupted by Marie-Christine's voice once more.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He answered.

"Be careful. This is a leap year and if it was the Fleur-de-lys that captured you, then you're marked. I don't want to see you die." With these words, she closed her eyes once more and promptly fell asleep.

The mystery of Marie-Christine only deepened further. Erik just hoped he would solve the riddle before it was too late.


	5. Chapter 5

_Who was she?_

_How did heal my scars?_

_What does she want from me?_

_Why is she helping?_

Question after question continued to race through Erik's mind. Although Marie-Christine provided some answers, Erik still found he possessed a thousand more questions. His interest in Marie-Christine was certainly piqued after the demonstration of her unique abilities. She was indeed an extraordinary young lady. He watched as she slept soundly, following the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. It actually had a rather calming effect on Erik.

For someone who had been through so much in such a short time, she appeared to be truly at peace with her lot in life. As he continued to watch Marie-Christine sleep, a strange thought crossed Erik's mind.

He wondered if she would want to come back and live with him at the Opera Populaire or wherever he might choose. That much was as yet undetermined. Erik almost shuddered at the thought. On the one hand, she would certainly bring light to his otherwise dark and dismal existence. Marie-Christine's presence in Erik's lair would be like a beacon in the night; shining her light wherever she chose to go or upon whosever life she managed to touch. Her kindness, caring and generosity had indeed affected Erik in the short time he'd come to know her. However, he didn't know if he would want to introduce Marie-Christine to the world of lies and deceit along with the terror and despair that had become so much a part of his existence.

Erik knew what he did was a necessary evil in order survive; whether it be stealing a piece of furniture, making monetary demands of Messieurs Firmin and André or the occasional murder, such as Joseph Buquet. However, Erik did have one other concern. If someone were to discover Marie-Christine's unique abilities, he was afraid that she would be treated as he was: an outcast and pariah within society. That was an option Erik dared not to entertain. He'd lived that nightmare; no correction . . . he was still living it. If only he were a normal person, then he could have a regular life; a family for which he could care; someone to love and someone who loved him in return. Erik knew that Marie-Christine was someone full of life with so much to offer.

Consequently, he was beginning to have feelings for this being, this creature of beauty, this unique individual, this . . . soul. Each time he was able to bring down one wall and see further into her heart, another one landed squarely in its place. He paused for a moment, letting out a breath that he forgot he had been holding.

"Clear you mind," he admonished himself; not realizing he was speaking aloud. He needed to organize his priorities. Breaking himself out of his momentary daydream, Erik stood up and walked into the front room. He found the small armoire that Marie-Christine spoke of earlier. Opening it, Erik did not see much in the way of additional or even suitable clothing. He wondered where Marie-Christine had come upon the garments he now wore; another question that would remain unanswered for now. There was however, the one lone cloak and scarf she had mentioned earlier. Erik would be able to hide his appearance as he ventured out into the city. Now that he was somewhat dressed for the evening, Erik headed to the front door. Soon, he was back in the heart of Paris.

Paris nightlife was unique unto its own. Many had tried to define it within works of literature, but to really understand the pulse of the city; one had to live the life of a Parisian. One had to smell the fresh baked bread and croissants that even some vendors would sell late at night, or the scent of fine tobacco that wafted through the air. Each corner possessed its own entertainment of sorts; from street performers to prostitutes to young boys holding newspapers; promising the latest and often bloodiest headlines. Erik continued to walk through the rain-slicked and noisy streets of the night. He watched as life passed right before him and was pleasantly surprised that he actually seemed to blend right into this underworld as it were.

Looking around, Erik felt a slight smile tug at the corners of his mouth. No matter how many times he'd seen it, he couldn't help but be in awe at the marvel of Paris and all that it had to offer. Although the Opera House was closed; in part due to the damage he'd inflicted upon it that did not stop the beat of the city. Vendors sold their wares. People walked the streets. Life, as many knew it, simply continued.

Making his way to a small newsstand, Erik could not help but overhear a conversation that caught his interest.

"Did you hear what happened?" one gentleman asked.

"You mean the Opera House?" the other responded.

Erik felt obligated to listen. He didn't really care what people thought of what happened at the Opera House. All he knew that on that fateful night, his heart was ripped in two. He'd professed his love for Christine and in return, she had unmasked him for the world to see.

"No…I mean…Christine Daaé," the first man continued.

Erik's interest was piqued once more. Picking up a newspaper, he pretended to read as he continued to listen to the conversation.

"She died," he informed the second man.

"What happened?" the second man asked.

"I'm not sure, but it's here in the newspaper," the first man indicated.

Erik quickly turned to his attention to the newspaper in hand. The headline caught his attention.

**"Christine Daaé, Opera Populaire Diva, found dead…."**

Erik continued to read the article. Apparently, she'd been found dead on the morning of following the disaster at the Opera Populaire. The cause of her death was not certain at the time, but speculation leaned towards the mysterious Phantom that had haunted the Opera as being the culprit.

Erik bowed his head, allowing a small sob to escape from his lips. Numbness began to overtake his mind, body and soul. He didn't know what he to do. Christine was everything to him.

_If only I had made her stay with me . . ._

_If only I had killed Raoul . . ._

_If only I had . . ._

Thought after thought, both rational and not, flooded Erik's mind. He replayed the earlier events over and over again. _Was there anything he could have done differently?_ After knowing her for so long, she essentially became his reason for being, his _joie de vivre_. Now, she was gone.

_Why was the world so cruel to him? What did he do to deserve such pain and agony?_ Erik continued to wonder, to try and rationalize all that occurred. He finally came to a simple conclusion.

_I am not allowed to love; to live the life of a normal human being. I was cursed the day I was born and shall remain so until the day I die._

For Erik, it seemed to be that every time he found the happiness that he had truly sought, it was eventually ripped from his hands. It was as if someone were toying with him; allowing him momentary hints of pleasure and joy in life and then reminding him of the monster he truly was. He thought of Christine and the happiness her voice brought to his life. He also thought of the pain that came with the love he shared for her as well. It was truly unbearable.

And then Erik's thoughts returned for a moment to Marie-Christine. _What of her?_ He mused to himself. She had entered his life through a series of events that were beyond her control. He felt that the two were becoming one . . . Christine and Marie-Christine…Marie-Christine and Christine…

_Where would it all end?_

The turmoil that Erik thought he buried following Christine's departure returned once more; ready to rip his heart in two. Erik placed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He head was beginning to hurt. He didn't know what he was going to do. He was truly lost. He felt he was truly . . . alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Loss; we must all deal with at some point in our lives, whether it be a simple toy we cherished as a child or the death of someone for which we deeply cared. The concept is often one of our most challenging obstacles we must face in our daily lives. For Erik, loss had become quite common. Memories flooded back and try as he did, he could not stop the onslaught of pain that now wash over him. He remembered how . . .

_Sometime after his birth, although not sure when, he was given away to the gypsies, never to see his mother again; not that it mattered much. Although physically present in his life, she rejected him at birth._

A small tear began to form as he thought of how . . .

_As a child, he had a favorite toy that was taken from him. It was a small monkey with golden cymbals. He loved that toy so much._

One tear soon became two.

_He often played with it, in between his "display" as the **Devil's Child**. However, one day, Erik had had enough of the daily beatings he received and struck back at his gypsy captor._

He clenched his fists, steeling himself for the pain that continued to flow.

_He killed his keeper. Fleeing with who would become a friend for life, Erik took refuge within the depths of the Opera Populaire. He soon learned to take that which he wanted and turned other's losses into his own gain. He gradually built his home, his refuge from the world above. As time progressed, he was blessed with a voice from the heavens. However that too was taken from him, ripping his heart while it still beat in his chest._

Erik thought back, and knew he could not make Christine love him. So he made the greatest sacrifice he could. He allowed her to leave with Raoul and to find the happiness for which he still desperately ached. Nevertheless, the gods did not see fit to allow Erik even a moment of peace. Christine was dead. Erik had one more loss, one more pain to cope with yet again.

As Erik continued to walk back towards Marie-Christine's home, the impact of what he had discovered began to settle within his mind. A light rain only further exasperated his mood. It seemed to taunt him. Nothing in the world was going right for him. He paid no mind to the rain or to the people who passed by him as he continued to walk. He clutched to a nearby wall, each step becoming more and more painful. Seeing that no one was around, he stopped for a moment, retching in an empty alley. His body began to feel the pain that his heart held for so long, heaving and yet unable to rid itself of the anguish that filled him full. Just a few days ago, he thought of nothing except for fleeing Paris and finding a new home along with a new life. Now, he didn't know what he wanted. As far as Erik was concerned, his reason for being, for living, was gone. He didn't care what happened next as he began his plunge into a sea of despair.

"Enough!" He chided himself once again. He looked around and fortunately no one heard his outburst. Erik knew he needed to put his emotions away for the minute. This was not the time for self-pity. In essence, he had to compartmentalize his feelings. Once he fled Paris, he could deal with things, with Fleur-de-lys, with Christine and her death . . . with everything. For the moment, he had to focus his attention back to Marie-Christine.

Erik arrived at the home and for a moment, found that it was rather quiet. Just then, he heard a noise in the adjoining room and proceeded to enter. Walking into the bedroom, Erik found Marie-Christine in a state of undress. Apparently, she was changing her clothes.

"I . . . I'm sorry. Please forgive my disturbance." Erik stuttered as he averted his eyes, but not before taking in the unique beauty presented before him. For a fleeting moment, he was able to forget the pain that had just been inflicted upon him. Marie-Christine was stunning. She stood not much more than five feet tall. Her petite form was complimented by the curves that ran the length of her body along with the flawlessness of her skin. Her auburn colored hair seemed to have an almost ethereal aura to it as it gently framed her face. There was not a single blemish to be found on her being. She truly was an angel. A lump began to form in Erik's throat as Marie-Christine spoke.

"Do you always enter a home without knocking?" She questioned as a slight smile formed at the corners of her mouth. Marie-Christine then realized that Erik was embarrassed for his intrusion. His back was now to her. She quickly responded. "Erik, it's ok. I was going to take a short walk for the evening. Would you like to join me? It might do you some good to get out once more?"

Erik thought about Marie-Christine's offer. She was right. The walk would do him good. Perhaps he could forget his pain for even a short time.

"Yes. That would be . . . nice," he answered as he realized he was actually happy to do something so simple and with such a beautiful woman at that.

"Shall we go then? You can still wear the cloak and scarf if you would like. The air is cool and so it will seem normal for you to dress warmly. I shall do the same." And with those words Marie placed a woolen cloak, which had been lying on her bed, around her shoulders and fastened it across her small chest.

"Ready?" she asked as she extended her arm.

Erik took Marie-Christine's right arm and rested it on his left. Soon they were just another couple strolling through the Parisian night. Walking through the water stained streets and alleys of Paris seemed to have a calming effect on Erik. The rain which had earlier soured his mood, stopped. The bitter cold, which seemed to chill many, was yet another welcome relief for Erik. He could remain bundled up and no one was the wiser. Although hidden within the protective warmth of the cloak and scarf he wore, Erik still felt a bit unsure; afraid that any moment, gendarmes would swoop upon him and take him away; locking him in a cage once more.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine's voice broke his momentary reverie. "Something is on your mind."

"I'm sorry . . . what?" Erik responded. He was obviously distracted in thought.

"What is on your mind?" Marie-Christine inquired; a definitive tone present in her voice.

Erik then relayed the events of the previous hours. He told Marie-Christine of Christine Daaé death and the loss he felt. He did not however, tell her of what occurred at the Opera House. Erik was afraid that Marie-Christine would turn from him as the others had done before. At the moment, he needed something more precious than the love he had once possessed for Christine. Erik needed . . . a friend.

"Was Christine someone dear to you?" she asked, her eyes looking into Erik's. He almost felt as if she was able to see into his soul.

"Very. I . . . cared for her . . . she was . . . special." Erik did his best to find the right words. He wanted to say so much more, but was still afraid.

"I see . . . and now? What shall you do?" Marie-Christine responded.

"I don't know . . . before she . . . died she gave me . . . a . . ." Erik stopped as a small tear began to trick down his left cheek. The pain of remembering Christine was more than he was ready to deal with at the moment.

"A . . .?" Marie-Christine pressed.

"A ring . . . it was so . . . wait," Erik paused as he closed his eyes for the moment.

"What?" she questioned.

"I left it . . . at my . . . home." He told her.

"Then we should recover it. It would be appropriate for you to have it as a remembrance of what the two of you obviously shared together," Marie-Christine offered.

"Yes, I think you're right. I will escort you back home and then I will retrieve the ring." Erik turned to lead Marie-Christine back to her home but was surprised when she resisted his forward movement.

"No. I am going with you," she informed him.

"What?" Erik was clearly taken aback by her response.

"I will go with you and help you find the ring. You need me. I don't . . . just let go."

Erik looked at Marie-Christine as stood her ground. He wasn't sure, but there was something in her eyes. It was fire than he had never seen before. Her defiance caught him off guard a bit. He wanted to merely take Marie-Christine by the arm and lead her back him. However, he could not spare the time to argue with her and so the two of them turn in the direction of the Opera Populaire.

Time lost all meaning as Erik and Marie-Christine made their way to the Opera Populaire. However, Marie-Christine was surprised when Erik took an alternate means of entrance.

"Erik?" she began.

"Yes," he replied.

"This will lead to the Opera Populaire?" Marie-Christine was once again perplexed by this dark and mysterious stranger.

"Yes it will." Erik answered as he tried to hide the irritation in his voice.

"Why don't we just use a regular entrance?" she pressed further.

Taking a deep breath, Erik spoke. "It's **better** this way. Now may we please continue?" His tone of voice indicated that the discussion was over.

Soon, they were inside the Opera Populaire. They continued through a series of passageways and catacombs. Lighting was at a bare minimum and yet Erik seemed to know his way quite well, pointing out loose stones and helping Marie-Christine avoid falling on more than one occasion.

Reaching what appeared to be an underground lake, Marie-Christine noticed a small boat moored to a post.

"Please sit," Erik instructed, fighting back the memories of when he often took Christine on this journey of so long ago.

Marie-Christine did as he asked and they continued further into the depths of the Opera Populaire. Vision was next impossible for her and so the only indication she had that they were actually proceeding forward was the sound of the pole as Erik used it to move their forward into the water.

"This might take a little time. You may lie back if you wish," Erik offered, gentleness oddly present in his voice. Marie-Christine looked up and caught only a glimpse of Erik's face. She was tired and so she lay back onto the soft velvet pillows that rested inside the small boat. Although she tried, her eyelids grew heavy and soon she was fast asleep.

Erik looked down at the sleeping form resting in his boat. He shook his head as he continued to progress forward through the canals beneath the Opera Populaire. He couldn't believe the impetuousness of this extraordinary young lady. While he marveled at the talents she displayed to him, he couldn't help but wonder the same question he thought of everyone who said they were a friend.

_When would she leave?_

Erik's thoughts were interrupted as the boat made its way to the edge of the lagoon. "Marie-Christine?" he leaned down and gently nudged her shoulder.

"Mmm . . ." she mumbled as her eyes slowly fluttered open.

"We're here," he informed her.

Opening her eyes, Marie-Christine began to look around and Erik's "home" as it were. Words escaped her as she tried to take in all that was presented before her.

The first thing Marie-Christine noticed was the candles. They burned so brightly. They were everywhere, bringing light into an otherwise dark realm. Next, she glanced at the organ, which was situated at the center of all that she could see. Its size seemed to have no end. The pipes reached high up as thought they would they would touch the heavens. Marie-Christine took Erik's hand that he offered and continued to look around at his home.

"I'll be right back. Please wait here," he instructed. She watched as Erik walked up a small series of steps and over to a desk. He seemed to be rifling through papers, looking for the ring. However, it appeared he was having little success in finding it.

"Damn!" he cursed and he slammed one drawer shut and proceeded to look in another.

Watching Erik's frustration level rise with each passing moment, Marie-Christine decided it was time to step in and help. "Erik?" she called out, but he didn't hear her.

"ERIK!" she shouted this time, the volume in her voice rising so that he had no choice but to turn and face her. The echo lingered within the caverns of the lair.

When he did turn and face Marie-Christine, the look in his eyes was something she'd never seen. It was sheer madness, driven by the loss of a simple object. Looking into his eyes and past the anger, Marie-Christine stepped forward, fighting the lump that was rising in her throat. "Let me help," she offered.

"You can't do anything. It's gone! I can't believe that it is gone." He retorted, venom present in his voice.

Steeling herself for whatever was to come; Marie-Christine took Erik's left hand in hers and spoke. "Erik. Close your eyes."

"What?" he was surprised by her request.

"Close them and think of Christine. Think of the ring. Do as I ask." Her tone was firm yet polite. Erik acceded to her wishes and closed his eyes, unsure of what would happen next.

It was then that Marie-Christine was able to focus and soon a smile crossed her face. She released Erik's hand and ascended the small staircase that led to the bedchamber. Once there, she glanced around and then kneeled down by the head of the swan bed. At the same time, Erik watched with a mixture of fascination and curiosity until Marie-Christine stood up and held something shiny in her hand. It was the ring. Erik immediately flew to her side, taking the small series of steps in two giant strides.

"How did you know?" he asked with astonishment very evident upon his face.

"I am able to see past events that people have experienced. It's not exact, but I'm finding my abilities are constantly changing. I know most of what I can do, but I do find from time to time that I can surprise even myself."

"Thank you," Erik answered as a small tear cascaded down his cheek once more. Marie-Christine reached up to catch the tear. Her smile quickly faded as jumped back from Erik.

"Marie . . ." he stammered, not sure of what just happened.

"I . . . uh . . . Erik?" she stumbled, unsure of what she had just seen. "Are you . . . the Opera Ghost?"

Suddenly, the world seemed to crash once more for Erik. All semblances of humanity quickly disappeared and the Opera Ghost returned once more.

"So now you have found out my secret I take it?" The iciness in his voice chilled Marie to the bone.

"Excuse me?" she replied, unsure of what words would be spoken next.

"Oh come now my dear. Surely you have heard of the Opera Ghost? The man who terrorized so many here under this very roof? Well now I guess you've discovered my secret. I thank you for your help. I will take you back to the surface but if you would permit me time to leave, I would be . . ." Erik was not allowed to finish his words.

"Now wait just a damn minute! Who the hell do you think you are? You don't even know what I saw?" Marie-Christine found that she was actually angry with Erik.

Erik was taken aback by this tone of voice she took with him. "Then let me show you, what all have seen, so that you will know the horror that has followed me from my birth." With these words, Erik removed his mask and flung it Marie-Christine's face. She did not flinch one bit at all.

"I saw the Opera House. I saw the destruction. I also saw how you let the Vicomte de Chagny live and leave with Christine. I saw something else," she continued as she looked directly into Erik's eyes, never once shying away from the vision he now presented before her.

"What?" He spat back, ready to continue the argument.

"I saw compassion and I know there is something else you need but you're too stupid to see it. It's right before your eyes." The ferocity in Marie-Christine's eyes made Erik have a momentary loss for words.

"What?" He managed to say.

"You need and you have a friend . . . in me. I . . . I . . . care . . ." but before Erik could say another word, Marie-Christine walked to him and stood face to face. For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them moved. Then, Marie-Christine did the unexpected.

She kissed Erik.


	7. Chapter 7

Soft and gentle as a night breeze . . . that was how the kiss felt to Erik. It was sweet, without being overly aggressive and yet it was far from demure. There was a tenderness that surprised even him. At first, he seemed to fight Marie-Christine, but as she deepened her kiss, his resolve was soon weakened. She parted his lips, her tongue seeking entrance and desiring to drink in all that Erik could offer. His resolution continued to falter. He had not experienced such warmth in quite some time. Erik began to think of that one moment in time when . . . Christine had kissed him.

_**Pitiful creature of darkness . . . what kind of life have you known . . . ? God gave me courage to show you . . . you are not alone!**_

_Christine calmly put the ring he had given her back, on her finger and kissed him full on the lips. She pulled away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Erik was stunned. She then leaned toward him and embraced him again. However, this time the kiss was long and deep. It was a lover's kiss. When it ended, they looked straight into each others' eyes. Erik began to cry. He was devastated. He had never known human love. He would never know human love again. _

Then without warning, the kiss was broken. Erik pushed Marie-Christine away, almost sending her crashing to the cold stone floor of the lair. She gave him a look of surprise and . . . of disappointment, much like a lover hurt by rejection. Collecting his thoughts, Erik looked down at Marie-Christine and spoke.

"Well, you did it. You kissed a monster and lived to tell about. What will you say to everyone when you return? Was it pleasing? Did you enjoy it? I think . . ."

"ENOUGH!"

Marie-Christine spat back at him, venom spewed forth in each word she began to choose. "When will you cease your endless self-pity and loathing? Can you not accept that fact that someone might actually care for you as a human being?"

"And have you noticed that I am far from a human being? Or is blindness merely a side effect of your unique abilities?" Erik was ready to continue the argument, his eyes piercing through, hoping that he would push Marie-Christine away in the process.

"Erik," her voice began softly. She moved closer, standing now mere inches away from him. "Some scars are not on the outside." Marie-Christine's voice softened more, forcing Erik to concentrate on each word. She gently brought her left hand to unmasked portion of his face, cupping his cheek in her palm.

"What . . . do . . . you mean?" he stuttered as he found it more and more difficult to speak.

"What I mean Erik, is some of the scars we all bear are not on the outside. You possess many, the ones I can see and the ones I cannot. Am I not correct? Are there not more scars littered across your body?"

Erik nodded, no words emanating from his lips.

"May I see?" she asked.

"Why? Do you want to pity me? Forgive me, but I've had enough pity to last me a lifetime." He tried his best to push back once more.

Marie-Christine would not be so easily dissuaded. "I would never pity you. The night you came to me, there was something I saw in your eyes."

"Desperation?" he responded.

"I think it was hope. You've yet to feel compassion from another, let alone a woman perhaps. Erik, allow me in . . . allow someone to . . ." she paused for moment.

"To . . ." Erik wasn't sure or certain he wanted to hear her response.

"To love you," Marie finished.

Erik hesitated, feeling for the first time shy in front of a woman. He thought back of the time when he was a child on display as the **_Devil's Child_** and how . . .

_He was stripped of practically all clothing so that those who paid their admission could see what a dirty little monster he truly was. During that time, he was allowed to bathe maybe once or twice in a month. In the meantime, the dirt would cake along with the cuts and bruises he received. When it came time to "clean up" as his keeper had put it, Erik found that he hated it. He hated how the man would hurt him, splashing ice cold, filthy water across his small body and scrubbing the month-long dirt away with a harsh brush. It was a wire brush. The pain was excruciating. He would close his eyes and wait for it to end. It never did._

"Erik?" Marie-Christine whispered once more. "Please let me see."

Releasing a breath he'd been holding, Erik opened his eyes and began to slowly unbutton his shirt to the waist. He looked up at her, not sure of what would happen next.

Marie-Christine smiled and placed one hand on his chest. His skin was warm to the touch, almost as if there was a heat intensifying with each passing moment.

"Erik, I saw these before and as you know, I can take away the pain and the scars." She stepped forward and placed a small kiss on Erik's chest. Marie-Christine kissed one scar and then another and then one more. It wasn't until she reached the fourth one that Erik realized she wasn't using her abilities to heal his body, but rather she was using . . . love . . . to begin to heal his heart.

"Christine . . ." he groaned as she continued her kisses. Try as he did, Erik found that it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain the walls around his heart. They slowly began to crumble.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted when Marie-Christine stopped. She had heard what he had said. He called out Christine's name and not hers, but she didn't seem upset. She had a rather odd look on her face. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but knew he made a mistake . . . again. He bowed his head.

"Erik?" she began, taking her finger and raising his chin so that he would look into her eyes. "Now I think you can understand that the scars that are on the inside of you must begin to heal as well. I know this as I still possess many of my own." She then turned from Erik, and walked towards his bedchamber.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he followed her.

Marie-Christine did not answer, but instead continued to walk away from him. It was as if she were lost in thought. She began to look around the room, picking up objects, regarding them with a sense of curiosity and wonder, and then placing them back, careful so as not to break the objects. She noticed a small passageway beyond a curtain. Marie-Christine was about to go through the passageway when Erik placed his hand on her shoulder.

"It's not wise to explore down here. There are many traps that I . . ."

"Set?" she finished his sentence. "I'm sorry. Where was I?"

"You were speaking of scars you still possessed," Erik replied.

"Ah yes. Well, I told you about how I lost my sister. I never told you how I came to live in that house . . . did I?" Marie-Christine asked.

"No, you didn't." he replied, wondering what more he would learn of her.

"Well, where do I start," she began.

"The beginning is always good," Erik offered; a slight smiled tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
"Yes. That's true indeed. After I escaped from the Fleur-de-Lys, I was taken in by a local doctor in town. He lived in the house you found a few nights ago. He was so kind and helpful. He was like the father I never knew. He allowed me to live there and in return I took care of the house, did some cleaning and cooking for him on occasion." Marie paused for a moment and allowed Erik to take in all that she said.

"So . . . was he your lover?" Erik asked.

Marie smiled and allowed a small laugh to escape her lips. "No. As strange as it may seem, he never once forced himself upon me. He was like a mentor, a guardian to me. I loved him as a . . ." she struggled to find the right word.

"Father?" Erik offered.

"Yes. He was a father to me. He was more of a father than my other one was ever allowed to be. Then one night, he was taken from me." Marie turned; her head bowed and looked at Erik. A small tear began to trickle down her left cheek. He could not help but to reach out and catch the tear as it cascaded down her face.

"I'm sorry." Erik replied.

"It's okay really. I mean, he wasn't murdered. It was of all things, an accident. He was racing across town to a woman who was going to give birth. His carriage was hit by another. My father, I mean my surrogate father was thrown from the carriage. He didn't survive the night." The tears that were to slow to come flowed more easily.

Erik was unable to speak at the moment. Each time he thought he knew all there was to know about Marie-Christine, something new came to light. Her breakdown in front of him was something he had not counted upon. He expected her to run from him once she had seen the horror that was his face. She did not flee. Instead, she turned to him for comfort as she shared something private and personal.

"I'm sorry. I must seem like a babbling fool," she cried, stifling a small sniffle in the process. Marie-Christine did her best to dry her tears but thinking of the loss of her surrogate father opened old wounds. She turned and wrapped her arms around Erik, seeking comfort and warmth. She hoped he would not turn her away. She was not ready to deal with rejection yet again.

"Shhh . . . . It's okay. I understand," Erik assured Marie-Christine as he stroked her hair. He allowed her to bury her face into the warm of his body. Her hot tears burned into Erik's very being. After a few moments, she stopped and looked into his eyes.

"Do you understand Erik? Loss is what I speak of to you. I won't forget all that he did for me, but I also cannot live in the past. I do my best each day to try and live in the present and the only way I can truly succeed is let go of the past and the pain as well. Can you begin to do the same?" Marie-Christine waited for his response.

Erik thought for a moment. Then, the realization of what she said became readily apparent. Marie-Christine was telling Erik that he had to let go of the past. That meant his childhood, the time in the Opera Populaire, and . . . he would have to let go of Christine. He would not forget, but he had to begin to let go of the pain he had held onto for so long.

"I can try," he answered.

"Then we have a new beginning. Forgive, but I am tired. May I sit?" She pointed to the swan bed centered in the chamber. Erik nodded and Marie-Christine in turn sat at the edge.

"Come join me. I promise. I do not bite." She assured him.

He smiled and joined her, now sitting to her left. "You seem very trusting of me. How do you know what I will or will not do?"

"You said the magic word Erik. I **trust **you," she replied as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"I am glad that you do, but I still do not understand, **why** do you trust me?" Erik explained.

Marie-Christine went on to point out the parallels in their pasts. Each felt like an outcast in society. Both Erik and Marie-Christine had experienced loss many times over in their lives. She lost a mentor and Erik . . . a student. Erik hid beneath the depth of the Opera Populaire and Marie-Christine hid her abilities from a fearful Paris. As she continued explaining the similarities, Erik began to realize that both he and Marie-Christine were kindred souls . . . perhaps destined to be together or perhaps not. That was a matter for the gods to decide.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Marie-Christine finally asked. She turned and looked into Erik's eyes. Her hand now rested gently on his right thigh. Her action did not go unnoticed.

"I . . . yes . . . I do," he answered, a calmness present in his voice and in his being. It was something he had not felt in the past few weeks. He also discovered one more thing.

_He liked this new feeling._

Erik and Marie-Christine spent the next few hours talking, sharing, releasing the pain and embracing the new beginning each vowed to the other. It was as if two old friends who long been separated found each other once more. Nevertheless, the two old friends also knew things were changing. The two old friends were becoming . . . more.

"And then there was the time . . ." Erik paused for a moment when realized that Marie-Christine did not answer. He turned his head and looked closer. She had fallen asleep.

"Marie-Christine?" he whispered but she did not wake. Erik brought his hand to gently touch her left cheek. He ran his thumb along the outer edge of her lips, hoping to illicit a response, but it was not to be. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Erik knew that the conversation was done for the evening. He did his best to stifle a yawn, but he too was beginning to feel the weight of the past days upon his tired body. Erik gently stood and turned, not allowing Marie-Christine to fall from his side. He carefully picked her up and laid her on the bed. Her clothing was simple and therefore she would okay if she slept in them for the evening.

Erik yawned again. He needed to rest and there was no other place for him to sleep. It was really a practical decision. He removed his shoes and his shirt. Erik then walked around the bedchamber and blew out each candle. When there was only one left, he sat at the edge of the bed and looked over at the sleeping form of Marie-Christine. Erik gently traced the outline of her lips with his left hand. She murmured in response. He sighed and blew out the remaining candle. As he lay back, Erik was startled by Marie-Christine's arm extending across his chest. She was still asleep. Releasing a breath, he began to relax. As Erik closed his eyes, one final thought entered his mind.

_Can I truly find happiness twice in my lifetime?_

Erik slept soundly until the nightmare came. In it, he saw Marie-Christine fall. She fell into the same watery grave that almost claimed Raoul de Chagny's life. She cried out his name and yet he could do nothing. Erik watched in horror as she slipped away, her body filling with fluid and the Opera Populaire becoming her watery grave. A look of sadness adorned her face.

"**ERIK!"**

He woke with start. This was no dream . . . he thought. He heard Marie-Christine scream or did he? Erik immediately turned to the left side of the bed and saw she was gone.

Erik instinctively rose and rushed toward the trap he dreamt about. He hoped and prayed that she would be alright. He couldn't lose her. Erik truly believed in what she had told him last night. He believed once more . . . in love. As Erik rounded the corner, what he saw shattered that thought in an instant.

Marie-Christine was lying facing down in the water. The metal grate rested just above her body. She did not move.

Erik did the only thing he could do in response. He screamed again and again. He screamed only one name . . .

"MARIE-CHRISTINE!"


	8. Chapter 8

Pain, emptiness, anger, hurt and disbelief; every possible emotion that Erik could have imagined coursed throughout his body. Here was the one person who had given him a second chance at life and now it seemed that the gods saw fit to take her away from him. It was as if they were toying with him once more, allowing him a momentary hint of happiness only to remove it in the next instant. This time though, Erik refused to believe the vision presented before his eyes. Marie-Christine's lifeless body floated in the same water trap that almost claimed the life of the Vicomte de Chagny. For all apparent purposes, she appeared to be dead and yet Erik somehow knew . . . that she was not. She was teetering on the brink, but had not yet gone to the other side.

Pushing the wave of emotions aside, which sought to overwhelm him, Erik turned his attention back to the water trap and found the release mechanism for the grate. It slowly began its ascent. Erik did not have to wait long before he was able to jump into the water and retrieve Marie-Christine's limp body. As he pulled her to the cold floor, he noticed she was not breathing. Erik immediately began to try and breathe life back into her unconscious body. He hoped it would work.

_She needs air . . . let me give her mine._

He placed his lips to hers and blew air into her lungs. Nothing happened. Her chest did not move at all. Erik was dumbfounded. Then it dawned on him. He pinched the bridge of her nose, closing the air passage and placed his lips to hers, blowing yet another "breath of life" into her body. He would pause and repeat them same process. She did not move. He then turned her on her side and began to slap her on the back, wanting to rid her body of the polluted water. He would then alternate between the breaths of life and the slaps he gave to her backside. All the while, he prayed that she would live. His prayers soon were answered.

Marie-Christine's eyes fluttered slightly and she began to cough up the water that had filled her lungs. Erik turned her on her side so that she spit up the remaining water.

"Marie-Christine," he whispered, his voice quivering somewhat.

"I . . . sorry . . . I should have . . . listened," she murmured before losing consciousness once more.

"It's okay. I'll take you back," he assured her.

Erik knew he was far from being home free. Scooping Marie-Christine up in his arms, he began his trip back to his lair. Although it only took Erik minutes to make his way to the water trap, the return trip seemed much longer. The weight of Marie-Christine's drenched body slowed Erik down somewhat, but he soon made it to his home.

Once he returned, Erik made his way to the bed chamber. He quickly stripped the wet clothes from her body. The smell of the stagnant water almost made Erik retch. She was cold to the touch; like ice. The bluish tint around her lips worried Erik. Her body then began to shiver; the coldness had obviously permeated throughout. He looked around, seeking to find a solution, something that he could use to bring her body back to its normal temperature. Finally, Erik knew there was only one way to warm her body and thereby save her life. He placed her in the bed and then stripped off his own wet clothing. Erik joined Marie-Christine in the bed and drew her near to him, covering the two of them with thick warm blanket. Erik began to rub her body vigorously with his hands, seeing if he could improve her circulation and therefore chances of living. He held her close to his body, wrapping himself around her as tight as he could, and hoped that the warmth he possessed would be enough to raise her body temperature. As he saw color begin to come back into her cheeks, Erik knew things would be a little bit better. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Within the hour, Erik had to contend with a fever that raged throughout Marie-Christine's body. He did his best to contain the fever, placing cool washcloths against her face and gently running a sponge over her petite frame. He would hold her when she had one of her delirium fits and sing gentle lullabies to help her rest. He had no medicine and could only manage to create a small but weak broth which he fed to her in her semi-conscious state. As he watched his angel of mercy, only one thought seemed to cross his mind.

_Please God . . . let her live. Take my life, but do not take hers._

For the first time since he'd met Marie-Christine, Erik was at his wits end. His books could provide only so much knowledge. All that was left for him to do was one thing . . . pray

A few days later, someone heard him . . . someone from above. Marie-Christine awoke. She looked around, her eyes rapidly blinking and trying her best to focus. She was unsure at first of her surroundings. There were candles everywhere and a sandalwood scent filled the air. She seemed to be shrouded in what were black gossamer curtains with sparkled as they moved. It only took a few minutes before Marie-Christine realized where she was . . . Erik's lair. She was beneath the Opera Populaire. Her eyes continued searching, seeking and finally as she looked over to a small chair, she saw something or rather someone familiar.

"Erik?" She called out, a slight rasp in her voice. She tried to sit up but found that her body refused to comply. She was weak from the fever that had ravaged her petite frame.

Her voice caught Erik's attention. He stood, a small crick emanating from his body. He groaned as he stood up.

"How do you feel?" He asked as he sat at the edge of the bed, concern quite evident on his face.

"I'm thirsty and I . . . my goodness! You look awful." she responded and then paused, realizing Erik must have thought she meant his face.

"No . . . I'm sorry . . . I just meant . . .," but Erik placed two fingers to her lips.

"It's okay. I thought you were going to die . . . just like . . . Christine . . ." Erik cut himself short. He quickly picked up a nearby glass of water and offered it to Marie-Christine.

"Here . . . drink this," he said as he held the glass to Marie-Christine's lips.

Marie-Christine took the glass in hand, her unsteadiness balanced by Erik's strong arm. When she was finished, she raised her hand.

"Erik?" she began, her voice still weak.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Um . . . what happened to my clothing?" Marie-Christine knew she was wearing no clothing under the heavy blanket that covered her body.

"I had to burn them. I'm sorry. The water you fell into was polluted. There was no way I could really save your clothes." Erik turned away for a moment, rummaged through a small dresser, and then faced Marie-Christine.

"I realize this is nowhere near the finery that you might be accustomed to, but I hope these will do for the moment until I can acquire other garments for you." In his hands were two items of clothing; a shirt and a pair of pants.

Marie-Christine smiled at the gesture. "It's fine Erik. Let me try them on." She began as she made her way to the edge of the bed. Erik placed the clothing at the side of the bed and turned his back to allow Marie-Christine to dress. A moment later, he heard his name.

"Um . . . Erik?" she called, her voice barely audible.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I . . . need . . . your help." Marie-Christine explained. Erik was uncertain as to what she meant, and then it dawned on him. She was still weak and when she tried to stand, she found that she could not. She sat at the edge of the bed like a small helpless child.

"I understand." Erik took the shirt in hand and gently helped Marie-Christine into it, guiding one arm and then other into the sleeves. He then fastened the buttons in the front, focusing his attention on the clothing and trying not to stare at the beautiful vision presented before him. He smiled.

"Are you actually smiling?" She asked as he finished the last button.

"I was just thinking . . ." he paused.

"Yes?" she continued.

"I just found it amusing that it seems now I am the caretaker and you are the patient." He explained, a now prominent smile adorning his face.

"Oh," was the only answer Marie-Christine responded. Erik's face immediately changed to a look of worry.

"I've offended you. I . . ." but Marie-Christine placed her fingers to his lips.

"I appreciate all that you've done," and with those words, she kissed him once more. Her lips brushed against his. Marie-Christine's touch was soft and sweet.

For a moment, Erik was at a loss for words. "Well, let me help you with these," he indicated as he held out the pair of pants. Marie-Christine stood and placed one leg and then the other in pants, all the while, she balance against Erik's shoulders. Once she had both legs in place, Erik drew the pants up to her waist. Both smiled as they realized one thing. The pants were rather large and Marie-Christine was equally petite.

"Oh my," she laughed. "How should I?"

"I think I have a solution," Erik offered. Allowing Marie-Christine to rest at the edge of the bed, he turned back to the small dresser. He seemed to be searching for something. After finding what he needed, Erik helped Marie-Christine to stand. He produced a small rope in hand and proceeded to lace in through the loops of the pants. He tied the two ends together, allowing his hands to rest for a moment at the front of her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered with a slight quiver present in her voice.

"You're . . . welcome. Shall we?" he asked as he offered his arm.

Marie-Christine's curiosity was piqued. Erik led her into the main cavern of his lair and guided her over to a small desk. Marie-Christine's eyes widened as she noticed there was some food on the desk.

"It's not as nice as the meal you had prepared for me," Erik began.

"It's perfect," she assured him. Erik's meal consisted of some cheese, a small bit of meat and a tiny loaf of bread. Marie-Christine sat down and found herself famished so much that she practically forgot her manners. Erik allowed a small laugh to escape his lips as he watched this petite young creature eat like a ravenous lioness.

"You should do that more often," she told him.

"What?" he asked.

"Laugh . . . it's good for the soul," she smiled in return.

"When I have a reason . . . then I will," he promised.

"You have me," Marie-Christine countered.

"Indeed I do . . . Indeed I do."

And so it began. Each day, the two of them found themselves falling into a routine of sorts. Erik would care for Marie-Christine, not allowing her to stray too far from his sight, fearful that she would fall prey to one of the many traps he had laid out during his time at the Opera Populaire. Marie-Christine offered little objection, as she was still weak from her fever. Even after their third day, Marie-Christine found that she was tired yet again. She did her best to stifle a yawn, but to no avail.

"You should rest," Erik told her.

"I know but . . ." Marie-Christine began.

"But what?" he pressed.

"I was thinking. Is it wise for us to stay down her much longer? Surely someone would come back and find us here?" She sat back for a moment and waited for an explanation.

"Well, I can tell you this. The passageway they took to here before has been sealed. While you were with fever, I took the precaution of reworking and sealing various passageways so that curiosity seekers may receive more than they ever bargained."

"Erik, you won't kill them will you?" Marie-Christine asked; a fearful tone present in her voice.

"I will do nothing to them," he assured her. Marie-Christine seemed satisfied with his answer. He did not tell her though that it would be the foolishness of the curiosity seekers that might get them killed. He had decided some obstacles were in order to turn away most, but for those who persisted . . . well . . .

"And you my dear need to rest," Erik reminded her as he helped her to her feet. He gently guided her back to the bedchamber, allowing a slight smile to cross his face at the sight of Marie-Christine in a pair of his pants and shirt. Although they dwarfed her in size, one thing was becoming readily apparent. Erik was becoming more and more drawn to her. Christine was still in his mind, of that there was no doubt. However, Marie-Christine was right about one thing. Somehow and someway, he had to move on and let go of the pain. Sighing, he came to realize that it was far easier said than done, but Marie-Christine's presence did help somewhat.

Erik's musings were interrupted as they reached the bedchamber. He helped Marie-Christine into the bed, pulling a small blanket up and over her body. Erik was about to leave when Marie-Christine made one request.

"Erik?" she whispered.

"Yes?" he replied.

"You do sing am I not correct?" she asked as her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

"I have not sung since . . ." Erik stopped, pushing back yet another memory of Christine.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Marie-Christine responded as a small tear cascaded down her cheek. She felt bad for forcing Erik to relive yet another painful memory.

Erik shook his head. "No . . . you were right . . . close your eyes." Marie-Christine did as he asked. He then sang her a lullaby, something he had heard long ago. Erik didn't know where he had heard the song but it had done the job. Minutes later, Marie-Christine was fast asleep.

For the remainder of each day, Erik found himself at his organ, thinking of his music. He had yet to play anything, the memory of the fiasco of **_Don Juan Triumphant_** stilled burned in his mind. Although, that did not stop him from contemplating a new direction, something called . . . hope.

Marie-Christine, in the short time he'd known her, changed so much in Erik's life. He still couldn't believe how someone as kind as her would take him in without as much as an objection. Erik could not also fathom how he could find someone so talented, caring, beautiful, and . . . trying. Oh she was indeed trying. Never in his life, had Erik met a woman who dared to challenge him when he tried to push her away. It was as if she would not allow him to use his disfigurement as a crutch and expected him to behave in a civil fashion.

Erik allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips as he contemplated all that had transpired in that past days. Yawning, he realized that it was getting late. He needed to sleep. He would join Marie-Christine. Her presence offered him a sense of comfort he had not experienced in his lifetime. Soon though, he did need to think about . . .

Shaking his head, Erik realized that those thoughts could be dealt with another day. He stood up and turned towards the bedchamber. Upon entering, Erik could not help but marvel at the sleeping form in his presence. Although dressed in man's clothing, Marie-Christine's beauty could not go unnoticed. Her lips that he had touched not too long ago, seemed to call to him. He remembered how sweet and tender they were, so inviting. He longed to taste the sweetness again. Erik sighed as he sat at the edge of the bed and removed his boots. Tomorrow he would need to take care of many things, but for the time being . . .

Sleep was what he needed.

Erik woke with start. Something was not quite right. He looked to the left side of the bed and saw that Marie-Christine was absent. Panic set in and yet Erik knew that she was not in any imminent danger. He did not know why, but . . . he knew. Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed and found his boots. Once he put both on, he walked out into the main cavern. To Erik's surprise, Marie-Christine was at his desk. She appeared to be slumped over.

A small sense of fear crept into his body as he approached Marie-Christine. As he got closer, Erik's fear quickly subsided. Marie-Christine was asleep. In her hand, though, was something unexpected. It was a sketch of . . . him. Erik gently pried the paper from her delicate fingers and studied the artwork he now held in his hands. She had drawn a picture of him but not as a monster, but rather . . . a man.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted as Marie-Christine woke.

"Erik?" she asked; sleepiness still present in her voice. She stood to face him.

"This is . . . so . . ." he tried to tell her what he felt but was at a loss for words.

"This is you," she told him as she stood from the desk. Marie-Christine leaned her head on Erik's strong shoulder.

"This is what you think I should be?" he asked, unsure of her response.

"This is what **I know you are**," Marie-Christine told him as she placed left hand around his waist. She allowed Erik a moment to look at what she had done. The drawing was unique in that she drew Erik without his mask. Granted, his deformity was present in the artwork and yet there was something else.

Erik continued to marvel at the object he held in his hand. Although he tried, he could not stop the one lone tear that gently cascaded down his unmasked cheek. Marie-Christine caught the tear as she turned Erik's face to her.

"I'm tired," she told him.

Erik understood. He turned and the two of them returned to the bedchamber. Once inside, both climbed into bed and soon the two of them were deep into each other's embrace.

Later, that night, Erik woke, but this time things were different. He turned and saw that Marie-Christine was still sleeping. Erik quiet got up from the bed and found his boots. He put a coat on that was in his small armoire and soon he was back in the nighttime of Paris.

Erik had one thought in mind and yet he did not know how he was going to achieve what he wanted. He wanted to buy an outfit for Marie-Christine. It wasn't that she didn't look quite beautiful in his clothing, but Erik felt he needed to do something in return for all that she'd done for him.

As Erik made his way further into the city, he saw that there was still a small shop open. As luck would have it, the night was cold and so Erik could bundle up once more and still fit in with the public. Erik entered the shop and saw that it did indeed possess that which he needed. He walked over to the small section of the store reserved for women's clothing. Once there, Erik realized he had a small problem. He did not know what size was Marie-Christine. Erik looked around and saw one young woman at the front counter. He wondered if he could ask for her help without drawing too much attention to himself.

Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"I cannot believe my eyes . . . I thought you would have learned a lesson by now."

Erik froze, a sense of panic filling his soul. He turned and . . .


	9. Chapter 9

Faced the ominous voice – His fears quickly subsided when he realized who it was that spoke to him.

"Madame Giry," he acknowledged with a slight nod of the head. Although unsure of what she would further say, Erik did not allow his emotions to betray him at the moment. He wanted to return to Marie-Christine as soon as possible. He longed to see her again and yet he wasn't sure . . . why. Madame Giry, though, wanted to continue this chance encounter.

"Erik," she whispered. "What are doing here? I thought you would have fled Paris by now. Don't you realize that it's been barely over a week? It's still fresh in everyone's mind."

"There is an explanation," he tried to assure her, but she seemed to want to hear nothing of it at the moment. She rolled her eyes and gave him a disapproving look. He looked for a nearby exit, but found himself trapped between a small hallway and Madame Giry. Neither seemed a suitable option. "Not now, follow me," she instructed. Madame Giry took Erik's hand in hers and led him further into the back of the small shop. Once they reached the back exit, she paused for a moment.

"Is something that matter," Erik asked.

"I just need to find . . . ah there it is," and with those words, Madame Giry found the small mechanism for which she was looking. A panel near the exit slid open and she stepped through.

"Are you coming?" she asked as she looked back at Erik.

Erik followed her up a series of stairs. There weren't many, but they were narrow and so both them had to ascend each step in somewhat of a sideways fashion. The hallway was dark and this made things more difficult. Once at the top of the staircase, Erik noticed a door. Madame Giry produced a key and opened the door.

Inside, he could see that this must be her new home. It possessed some of the previous comforts he'd seen when she lived in the Opera Populaire. A tiny bed was situated in one corner. The bedspread was simple; a mixture of gold and green coloring that was complimented with a cream colored fringe. Next to it, a small nightstand, stood. It was made of a light colored wood, almost natural. On top of the nightstand, a few books along with a lamp provided Madame Giry with a necessary distraction for the evening.

"Please Erik . . . sit," she motioned as she pointed to a small chair in the opposite corner of the room. He did as she requested.

"Now," she began as she sat down on her bed. "What has happened to make you risk your life with such foolish behavior? Were you actually shopping for a dress?"

"Yes," Erik answered with a hint of resignation in his voice.

"For whom?" She questioned.

"For a young . . . lady," he paused, unsure of what her reaction would be.

"Then tell me more," she instructed as sat back, ready to hear his story.

For the next few hours, Erik recounted the events of the past week. He began with his first encounter with Marie-Christine and how she saved him from the police.

"She did not turn you in to the police?" Madame Giry questioned.

"No, I heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but if I remembered correctly, she found a most ingenious way to convince the officer that there was no one at her abode and that she had more pressing matters to attend to at that time." Erik did not mention what he had heard Marie-Christine **actually** say. Thinking back, he found himself rather amused that a lady would mention such a . . . feminine thing to man.

Erik then relayed some of the extraordinary things she'd done, from healing the scars on his back to finding the ring that Christine had given back to him.

"So, if I am to understand, she healed your scars with simply a touch?" Madame Giry was clearly surprised and somewhat skeptical in the events that Erik described.

"Yes. It was like I was floated in a rather warm bath. There was a small burning sensation but then I found the entire experience to be . . ." He searched for the words but could not find it.

"And she found the ring simply by touching your hand?" Madame Giry asked, interrupting Erik's thoughts in the process.

"Yes. I don't know how she does these things, but what she does is . . . done without compensation." He did find it strange that Marie-Christine asked for nothing in return. Although, she did seem to demand one thing of Erik that he found he was giving to her more and more – respect. She simply wanted to be treated as a human being – nothing more and nothing less.

All the while, Madame Giry listened with interest, her attention focused; watching for everything Erik said and **did not** say. When Erik relayed the final events, including his discovery of Christine's death and Marie-Christine's revealing drawing, and how he wanted to do something nice for her, Madame Giry then spoke. "Well it seems that you have indeed found someone quite unique Erik."

"She is . . . different. I like . . . I mean she'd like . . ." but the words eluded him.

"Do you love her?" Madame Giry asked.

Erik was taken aback by such as bold question, but then he began to think.

_Do I love her? Am I allowed to love? How can a monster such as I be in love?_

"Erik?" she pressed once more, her hand now resting firmly on his forearm.

"I . . . but what about Christine?" he wondered. Erik did think that maybe he was going too fast. Christine had died perhaps only a week ago and yet here he was in the arms of another woman.

"Erik?" Madame Giry interrupted.

"I'm sorry. You were saying?" he seemed to still be lost in thought.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Why do you wish to know my age? I don't see what this has to do with Marie-Christine." Erik was surprised at this particular line of questioning.

"Please?" she implored.

"Why though?" he persisted.

"ERIK! Just answer the question." Madame Giry had clearly lost her temper, much like a mother with a child.

"I don't . . . well I guess I'm perhaps 36 or 37?" Erik did not know his true age as the concept of birthdays and the celebrations that followed were stolen from him as a child.

"Okay. Now does this young lady . . . does this Marie-Christine seem to want anything of you other than your companionship?" Madame Giry waited for her answer.

"No. As I told you before, she took me in when I was injured. I tried to push her away by letting her see me without my mask and yet, she is still with me." The irritation in Erik's voice seemed to grow with each passing moment. He wanted to return to Marie-Christine and yet, he could not . . . at least for the moment.

"Then listen well," Madame Giry began. "You have had a most difficult life. When I saw you more than twenty years ago, I knew you deserved a better life than what you had. I took you to the Opera Populaire, not really knowing what would occur. You did not disappoint."

"I did not?" Erik seemed to question Madame Giry's explanation.

"No, you did not. You surpassed every expectation I had hoped for you . . . and then some. You lived a life beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Erik, you are an artist, a composer, a magician. You are . . . genius. There is only one thing in your life that you lack." She paused for a moment and allowed him to take in all that she had said.

"I lack many things," he retorted.

"No. The only thing you are missing is a real sense of **love**. I am speaking of the love between and a man and a woman. I know you thought Christine was the one you. That love was more of a father to a child," she explained.

"It was **real**," Erik interjected.

"Erik, please listen. You are not getting any younger. Christine is dead. And yet, you have blessed for a second time in your life with an angel from above. From everything you have told me, this young lady, this **woman** loves you and she loves **all** of you. Do not let her get away. Leave Paris. Take any money you still have and start anew. Do not allow this chance to pass you by."

Erik did not speak. Madame Giry's words still weighed on his mind. He was about to speak, when she placed her hand on his forearm.

"You must go." She told him. Erik understood. She had him wait for a few minutes and then returned with a simple but elegant dress. It was a lilac color, small lace adorned the edge. The color was somewhat high, but it would suit Marie-Christine quite well.

"What am I to pay you?" Erik asked.

"Nothing, you are a friend. Consider this simply a gift," she told him. Madame Giry then led him to a back exit and bid him a final farewell.

As he walked the streets of Paris once more, Erik began to think of all he was told. Madame Giry was correct in her assessment of Marie-Christine. He was truly blessed. She was an angel sent from above, albeit a different one at that. For some strange reason, Erik thought of how she continued to frustrate and confound him. She would let him delve into self-pity and loathing. Marie-Christine saw him as something he had never truly thought of – she saw him as **a man**. To her, Erik was living, breathing human being, with all the qualities and faults of any man – as well as the desires of one too.

Before he knew it, Erik was once again and the entrance he used for the Opera Populaire. He made his way through the passageways, being careful as to avoid his own traps. Upon entering, he proceeded to the bedchamber. He looked to the bed and saw that Marie-Christine was not there.

"Marie-Christine?" he called out.

Erik continued to search his lair. He found the curtain to his clothing chamber pulled aside. His head slightly cocked, Erik walked into the room. Marie-Christine was, it appeared, to be going through his clothing.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. "You came back. Where did you go?"

"I went to find . . . you a dress." Erik held out the small package that contained Madame Giry's gift.

"Erik! You shouldn't have!" Marie-Christine turned ran into his arms and placed a small kiss on his cheek.

"Well, I did not think my clothes would be suitable for much longer. Although, I've never seen someone wear them as well . . ." he paused for a moment. Erik looked down the small table next to his armoire. He could not believe what she had pulled from his past, as it were. Marie-Christine found his costume from **_Don Juan Triumphant_**.

"Erik?" she interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes?" he answered, his eyes still focused on the costume.

"Do you know what the date is?" It appeared that Marie-Christine had no idea of the importance or the memories that this costume brought for Erik.

"It is the eighth of February. Why do you ask?" He did his best to contain the painful memories that began to flood back.

"There is a masked ball tonight and well I thought," Marie-Christine's voice grew quieter as she finished her thought, "that perhaps . . . you would . . . go . . . with me?"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment. The memories he tried to contain, had broken through. One after the other cascaded over his mind. He thought of . . .

_The masquerade ball at the Opera Populaire . . ._

_Seeing Christine dressed in the most beautiful gown ever . . ._

_The ring the rested on the chain . . ._

Erik now found the memories turned from sadness to rage. He thought of . . .

_How he made one final plea to Christine . . ._

_How she humiliated him in front of all those in attendance that night . . ._

_How she kissed him like a lover . . ._

_How she left him one last time . . ._

_The rejection . . ._

_The pain . . ._

_The hurt . . ._

Erik finally found that he take no more. He did not answer Marie-Christine, but instead turned and walked away. He needed to think, even if it was for only a moment. He needed something that would take away the pain. He needed . . . his music.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine was dumbfounded as to his reaction. She quickly followed him to his organ where he sat, his back to her. He placed his hands on the keys and let them rest. Marie-Christine, costume in hand, sat beside Erik on the small bench. She was about to speak with Erik took hold of her, both his hand firmly holding her shoulders. It all came to her in a flash of memories. They were Erik's memories.

She now knew. Marie-Christine understood Erik's pain just like the time before when she touched his cheek and saw his past. Marie-Christine now saw a new pain, his one and only performance at the Opera Populaire. Everything he felt, she saw through his eyes. No words were needed. Tears began to flow from her eyes and she looked into Erik's.

"I didn't . . . I'm sorry," she stuttered.

"What right do you have going through my things?" he hissed, the intensity in his voice ever rising. Erik did his best to contain his rage, but now it was unleashed and Marie-Christine was about to bear the brunt of it.

"I give you life, I care for you and what do you do in return? I find you searching through things that are most personal to me! I cannot believe how uncaring you can be! How could you . . ." but Erik was not able to finish his tirade as Marie-Christine broke free of his grasp.

She stood and looked into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak, "Erik, I'm sorry for going through your things. I just wanted to know more about you. When I remembered the masked ball and found this costume, I thought . . ."

"NO! You DIDN'T think," he interjected.

"SHUT UP!" Marie-Christine screamed back.

Erik stopped for a moment. He'd never heard anyone, not even Madame Giry, tell him to shut up. He was about to speak when a hand was placed to his lips.

"Let me finish," Marie-Christine told him as she regained her composure. The more she was with Erik, the more intrigued Marie-Christine became, but she also found him and his moments, although few, of self-loathing and pity to be more than she cared to deal with at times.

She sat down beside him and took his right hand in hers. "Erik, I know you've dealt with much in your life. You have experienced far more pain that I ever thought I could have felt, but as I stated before, you need to respect the past and let go of the pain."

"It's easier said that done," Erik told her, not willing to give in so easily to her words.

"I know. I really do, but when I hold this costume in my hand, I also know that it brought you such pleasure and joy from being able to share your gift of music with the world." Marie-Christine hoped he was truly listening.

"The world turned its back on me," Erik whispered, his head bowed.

"Erik? Please? Try this on once more for me?" she implored. Marie-Christine knew that their discussion was far from over. If she could get him to try on the costume, then she could show him at that he truly was and could be. Minutes stretched until Erik spoke.

"I will do this once . . . and you will see what a mistake it is." Erik took the costume from her hands and proceeded to his dressing quarters. Marie-Christine soon followed and waited on the other side of the curtain. She hoped Erik would see what she saw. For her, the costume **was** Erik. It was strength, power, masculinity, sexual prowess and so much more. Just then, the curtain was pulled back. Marie-Christine was not wrong.

Standing before was Erik as **_Don Juan Triumphant_**. She was truly at a loss for words. Marie-Christine started her assessment, taking note of the resplendent figure that stood before her. Erik's pants fit him much like a second skin, accentuating his well tone and muscular thighs and calves. As Marie-Christine continued taking in the vision set before her, she could not help but want to touch this living breathing man. Looking at Erik, she realized feelings were stirring with her, the likes of which she had never felt.

"Oh . . . Erik . . ." she whispered as she allowed her hand to move slowly over his chest. The shirt he wore was similar to the one in her vision. It was made of the finest fabric, soft to her touch. The opening which was complemented by the trim had left Erik's chest for all to see. Marie-Christine's left hand gently touched his bare skin. It was warm, but with an intensifying heat that seemed to be building.

The jacket was the final compliment to the outfit. Looking at it, Marie-Christine could see that it took, clung to Erik's well-toned muscular physique. She began to slowly circle Erik; much like a hawk would regard its prey. As she moved to his back, she allowed her hand to gently trace along Erik's shoulders and placed a small kiss on his neck.

Erik shuddered under her touch. He knew what she was trying to do. As much as he wanted to fight it, Erik had to admit . . . she was right. However, he did feel that there was only one true compliment to his figure of **_Don Juan Triumphant_**.

He turned to Marie-Christine and took her left wrist in his hand. "Well if I am to be what you feel I am and should be, then I have something for you to wear."

Erik walked past her and opened the small armoire. He pulled what was obviously a Spanish peasant costume and presented it to her. "Would you wear this please?"

Marie-Christine regarded Erik's gesture with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Taking the costume in hand, she then realized what special meaning this hand for him. It belonged . . . to Christine.

"Allow me to change?" she asked as she waited for Erik to leave the room. He did as she requested. Once he was gone, Marie-Christine decided that a change was definitely in order.

Outside the dressing room, Erik waited and paced. She seemed to take much more time than he had done. He wondered if she could sense that the costume he gave her belonged at one time to Christine. On the one hand, he hoped she would and that she would understand his need to see her in the costume, but he also felt conflicted. He knew something was developing between. At the moment, he wasn't sure exactly where things were heading.

When the curtain opened, Erik saw that things were heading in a completely different direction. Marie-Christine stood before him not in Christine's outfit, but rather **her own**. She kept the black corset, her small breasts pushed gently so that they rested quite nicely, providing Erik with a vision to contemplate. She changed the skirt from a golden hue to that of a deep lush purple. The jewels that were sown in sparkled with every swing of her hips. The black shawl that previously covered Christine's lower body was now replaced with one of forest green. Erik tried to speak, but it was difficult.

"Marie . . ." he began.

"I know what you wanted," she told him, her voice low and rather seductive. "But . . ." she continued as she moved to within inches of Erik, "I am Marie-Christine. I cannot be and **will not be** Christine." Her hot breath burned against his chest, sending shivers throughout his body. Looking into her eyes, Erik saw something unique, almost primal. It excited him and yet . . . he quickly dismissed his other thoughts. Erik now understood what she had done. Marie-Christine presented Erik with a vision he had never seen of her – that of a **woman**.

"Shall we?" she broke his thoughts for a second time as she extended her hand. He took her hand in his and smiled. Tonight would be a masquerade. The paper faces would be on parade and Erik could hide his face so that the world would never find him.

The ride to the ball seemed to last quite a long time. That did not, though, bother either Marie-Christine or Erik. Both seemed content to enjoy the quiet peace that the trip afforded them. Neither one spoke more than a word or two and yet, so much more was said through . . . their bodies. Marie-Christine, finding herself a bit tired, leaned against the inside of the carriage. Although the paneling was padded, it was still uncomfortable. Sensing her discomfort as she continued to shift her position, Erik drew Marie-Christine into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulders. He placed his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. Marie-Christine smiled and closed her eyes.

As she slept, Erik thought of the night ahead. The idea of attending a masquerade ball both intrigued and unnerved him at the same time. Being out in the public was something of which he had always dreamed. At the same time, Erik was no fool. The recent events at the Opera Populaire were still in many people's minds. It was unlikely that he would come across any problems as this ball was to be held in Lyon, but Erik did know that nothing in life was guaranteed. Looking out the window, he couldn't help but wonder what tonight would bring.

His questions would soon be answered. "Marie-Christine," he whispered as her eyes began to slowly open.

"Erik?" she murmured in response.

"We're here." He informed her.

"Mmm . . . okay," she answered as she sat up once more.

Upon arriving at the estate, the first thing they noticed was the moonless night. Darkness truly prevailed. Erik's anxiety faded somewhat, as he could hide within the darkness that now cloaked the evening. The second thing he noticed was that everyone was in costume. It was **impossible** to see anyone's face.

"Are you ready?" Marie-Christine asked as she offered her arm to Erik.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," he replied as they exited the carriage.

Erik and Marie-Christine entered into the ballroom. The vision presented before them was absolutely astounding. Although it was not as large as the ballroom of the Opera Populaire, the Lateur estate's opulence was indeed a sight to behold. A massive staircase stood as the center of the festivities for the evening. Golden statues in the shapes of angels adorned the trim found throughout the room. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, leaving no corner unlit. Mirrors provided all who attended with an extended view of the celebration around them. Wine and champagne along with an assortment of exotic foods flowed freely in an adjoining room.

"Oh Erik," Marie-Christine whispered as she clutched his arm. "Thank you."

Erik said nothing. As the continued onward, he took note of the parade of dancers as well as the assortment of costumes they wore. Some wore nothing more than a mask, one side back and the other side white. Others chose costumes that reminded him of various animals – a cat, a wolf, a dog, and all hunters in one way or the other. The women were dressed in modestly elegant gowns. Their richness was no where near that of the Opera Populaire, but they were still beautiful nonetheless. All of the dancers moved in time to the music, enjoying the evening.

Erik soon found a small couch on which he and Marie-Christine could sit. From their vantage point, they could see everything. Erik watched as Marie-Christine observed the dancers. He also took note of how her body began to move slightly, almost as if she were dancing to the music along with everyone else. Erik knew it would not be long before . . .

"Erik?" Marie-Christine placed her hand on his shoulder. She wanted to dance.

"I'm not very good," he tried to dissuade her.

"Oh," her tone of voice did not hide her disappointment.

"However," Erik spoke again. "I will try my best." He gave her slight squeeze of the hand. Marie-Christine's smile beamed even wider.

The two of them stood and move to the dance floor. The music that played was a waltz. It was light and airy, with a certain cheerful and yet haunting beauty to it. As they approached the center of the floor, both took their respective positions. Marie-Christine lined her body close to Erik's, her breasts coming into contact with his muscular chest. He in turn, brought his right hand to the small of her back. On the count of one, they began their dance.

Although Erik performed only the most basic steps, the look on Marie-Christine's face did not show any dissatisfaction. Her smile radiated for all in the room to see. She did her best to keep her head in what one would refer to as the proper position, but at times Erik found her glancing at him, her eyes slowly melting any remaining anxiety he still possessed. They were both . . . happy.

The song soon came to an end. All of the dancers as well as those watching clapped in appreciation for the musician hard work of the evening. The music soon played again. It was a tango. Erik hesitated for a moment. Marie-Christine took hold of his hand.

"Is something wrong?' she asked.

"I've never really done this dance before. I'm sorry." He was disappointed that he could not perform what many thought of as a very sensual dance.

"It's okay. I am simply happy that you came with me tonight." Marie-Christine reassured him.

They were about to exit the dance floor, when the music stopped. Erik and Marie-Christine looked up as their heard a voice from above.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?" The voice called out. All attention focused on the gentleman dressed in red at the stop of the staircase.

"Who is that?' Erik whispered to Marie-Christine.

"That is Charles Lateur. He is the gentleman who is giving the ball tonight. He's a bit of an eccentric." She informed him.

Charles Lateur was a rather ordinary looking man. He stood no more than five feet eight inches in height. His frame was small, his age of sixty-five evident in the slow movement of his body. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and possessed a small goatee, the only patch of hair he allowed to grow. Although he was not excessively wealthy, he had done well enough in the world of business. His numerous successful ventures netted him a sufficient profit return. As a result, Charles was able to gradually build what he later terms, the "Lands of Lateur." Part of the tradition that he started with the "Lands of Lateur" was the annual masked ball on Mardi gras. It was one final chance for everyone in Lyon, who had been invited, to indulge in whatever they wished, before the time of Lent arrived.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Charles began. "I have a unique treat for you tonight. It is something rare and virtually unheard of in the world of music. I guess you could say it is the perfect compliment to my growing collection.

Charles Lateur was also known for one other thing. He was a collector on the unique and the unusual. He was said to be in possession of many artifacts of the Ming Dynasty as well as musical pieces that were said to be written by Mozart. Now it would appear, he was about to announce the most recently addition to his collection.

"This music piece you are about to hear is filled with passion the likes of which I have never heard. I came across it by chance. Apparently it was played on the final night of the Opera Populaire. I'm sure you all know that . . ." Charles remaining words began to fade as Erik focused on only two.

_Opera Populaire . . ._

_It couldn't be . . ._

_How?_

No matter how hard he tried, Erik found his past coming back to haunt him once more. The music played and his worst fears were confirmed.

**It was _Don Juan Triumphant_**.


	10. Chapter 10

_History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon._

_-Napoléon Bonaparte 1769-1821_

History was coming back to haunt Erik. He had hoped it would have been quite some time before he had to deal with the actions of that fateful night. Erik closed his eyes, trying to shut out what he was hearing. His music, his love, and all of his emotions were laid out for everyone to see. His body shuddered with each passing note. Small tremors flooded every nerve, causing him to clench his one fist tightly. A slight wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him. The music **_Don Juan Triumphant _**continued to play.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine had placed her hand on his arm, seeking his attention. He did not give it. His mind was elsewhere at the moment. He bowed his head and thought of . . .

_That fateful night . . ._

_Christine in all of her beauty . . ._

_The power the music gave to him . . ._

_The sway he had over Christine with his music and his voice . . ._

_He wanted that control once more . . ._

"Erik?" Marie-Christine again sought his attention. He was now ready to give it.

"Yes?" he answered. A chill was present in his voice. Erik did his best to control his emotions but the music, correction **his music**, did not make the task any easier.

"Shall we sit down? Or did you want to . . .?" Marie-Christine hesitated in finishing her words. Erik assisted her.

"I think I should like to dance," he informed her. She arched an eyebrow in response.

Slowly, Marie-Christine and Erik made their way to the center of the floor. They had been off to the side, but now Erik seemed to want to start from a different location. Marie-Christine followed, unsure of what was to come. She watched as Erik took her into his embrace. This time though, things were different. There was a look in his eyes that Marie-Christine had not seen before. His eyes seemed to pierce her inner being to the core. Her thoughts were broken as pulled her even closer so that her legs were directly in front of his. Their bodies were now a mere fraction of an inch apart. Erik would control every step she took. She would respond to his every touch.

_His every touch . . ._ _in his mind the words seemed to come alive . . ._

_**Past the point of no return . . .**_

_**No backward glances . . .**_

_**Our games of make believe are at an end . . .**_

They started with a simple basic step. On the close of the eighth beat, Erik would use his left leg to "push" or rather guide Marie-Christine's right leg to close. Such close contact caused her to have a small hitch in her breath. Erik would smile, but again, things were different. It was almost as if he were playing a role. The two of them would then continue, slowly making their way around the room.

_**Past all thought of if or when**_

_**No use resisting**_

_**Abandon thought and let the dream descend**_

****Marie-Christine followed Erik's lead, allowing his body to guide hers as they danced. Each movement on his part produced the appropriate response from her. Their steps, although simple, were in perfect unison with one another. Little by little, people on the dance floor took note of this unique couple. There was something quite unusual in their steps. There was a definitely sense of . . . passion.

**_What raging fire shall flood the soul?_**

_**What rich desire unlocks its door?**_

_**What sweet seduction lies before us?**_

The passion people began to speak of occurred when Erik would lead Marie-Christine into a promenade. He slowly leaned her back into a check and quickly brought her up, her head snapping to the right. Marie-Christine's left leg was firmly attached to Erik's, following closely, feeling the energy that emanated as they took their forward steps. They finished with a simple fan, that while most people would simply **do**, Erik and Marie-Christine actually **felt**. As she would step to the left of his body, her right foot forward, Erik seemed to relish the power he had, turning her back to him, allowing her to trace her left foot along the floor. Their feelings for one another became more and more apparent; each stolen glance into the other's eyes, almost primal in nature, the power that Erik wielded as he led Marie-Christine around the floor and the smiles the crept into each of their visages. All elements combined made one thing clear for many on the floor; these two souls were actually one . . . one being . . . one . . . life . . . one love.

_**Past the point of no return**_

_**The final threshold**_

_**What warm unspoken secrets will we learn?**_

_**Beyond the point of no return . . . **_

Then, Erik did something unexpected. He led Marie-Christine into a double turn, stopped and stepped back, leaving a space between the two of them. Marie-Christine looked into his eyes. It was as if he were . . . challenging her. The question was . . . to what?

_**You have brought me**_

**_To that moment where words run dry_**

**_To that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence . . ._**

****Marie-Christine then realized that Erik was re-enacting his final encounter with Christine from **_Don Juan Triumphant_**. This time though, she knew things would be and **had to be** different. Erik needed to see that this joining would soon lead to so much more. Slowly she moved toward him, much like a lioness stalking its prey. Now that she was, but a mere inch from him, Marie-Christine made her first move.

**_I have come here hardly knowing the reason why . . ._**

**_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining_**

**_Defenseless and silent -_**

**_And now I am here with you - _**

**_No second thoughts,_**

**_I've decided, decided . . ._**

****Her decision was made. Marie-Christine brought her right hand up to caress his left unmasked cheek. Erik closed his eyes in response. She drew him closer to her until their lips touched, brushing ever so slightly against each other. At that moment, the world simply stopped. Neither saw the others. Neither saw how many people began to stop their dancing. Both held their breath until Marie-Christine broke contact.

**_Past the point of no return -_**

**_No going back now:_**

**_Our passion-play has now, at last, begun . . ._**

Erik was taken aback, unsure of what would come next. Marie-Christine began to walk in a circle around him, allowing her nails to scrap gently across the opening of his bare chest and eventually over his back. A hiss escaped Erik's lips. She was playing with fire and he wondered if she knew that she would get _burned_. Her eyes never broke contact with his. She met his challenge and now it would soon be his turn once more.

**_Past all thought of right or wrong –_**

_**One final question**_

**_How long should we two wait, before we're one . . .?_**

**_When will the blood begin to race?_**

**_The sleeping bud burst into bloom?_**

**_When will the flames, at last, consume us . . .?_**

As she completed her circle, Marie-Christine took up her position once more in front of Erik, extending her right hand out to join his, her breasts lined up at the center of his chest. Her touch was electrifying for Erik, arousing a passion in him he'd long thought lost. She looked into his eyes and smiled. Erik understood her cue and they continued their dance. As they moved, something strange occurred. People began to exit the dance floor, choosing instead to watch this extraordinary couple that was clearly in love. Little by little, members of the ball looked on in fascination and curiosity at how the intensity of this one couple's passion seemed to increase as the music neared the end.

**_Past the point of no return_**

**_The final threshold -_**

**_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn . . ._**

_**We've passed the point of no return . . .**_

As the end came, Erik made one final move. He began with a simple basic step and continued with a fan, allowing Marie-Christine to trace her left foot along the edge of the floor, her body never breaking contact with his. She expected Erik to finish with another basic step, but instead he led to an open break, their connection held only through their fingertips. It was as if he wanted proclaim his love for her to the world. Finally, Erik pulled her in with an inside turn and held her close, much as he'd done before with Christine, guiding her one hand upward towards the hollow of her neck. The other remained firmly in his grasp at her waist.

Many started to applaud when the suddenly realized there was more . . .

_**Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . .**_

_**Lead me, save me from my solitude . . . **_

****Erik turned Marie-Christine to face him. She looked into his eyes and saw something she'd never seen before . . . his heart.

_**Say you'll want me with you here beside you . . .**_

_**Anywhere you go, let me go too . . .**_

It was then she realized he was making a plea to her as he'd done to Christine. It the short time they'd been together, something had changed in both of them. If they were not careful though, all would be lost. As Erik made his final entreaty, leading Marie-Christine into a dip, she realized there something she needed to do, no matter that it would be for everyone to see.

_**Christine, that's all I ask of . . .**_

****She . . .


	11. Chapter 11

_Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things._

_Denis Diderot (1713-1784)_

She kissed him. Before Erik could issue his final plea, Marie-Christine brought her left hand to his cheek and drew him closer to her. Her lips covered his, hungry, seeking to devour not only his passion but any pain that would dare escape. The kiss was gentle, and yet there a certain fierceness to it. As her tongue sought entrance, Marie-Christine was pleasantly surprised that Erik allowed her access, parting his lips and deepening the kiss in response. She moaned in the back of her throat.

For Erik and Marie-Christine the world had stopped. He gently brought her back to a standing position, never breaking the kiss. Instead, Erik pulled Marie-Christine even closer to him, his arms encircling her petite waist and drawing him to the strength that emanated from his body. She, in turn brought her hands to his face, pulling him nearer to her. Both were oblivious to the crowd that now stood watching. It wasn't until the reverberating sound of applause that Erik and Marie-Christine finally realized that perhaps they had gone a bit . . . too . . . far.

"Brava! Brava! Bravisima!" could be heard from almost every corner of the ballroom. Turning their attention to the people in the room, Erik and Marie-Christine were surprised to see that apparently everyone else had stopped dancing to watch **them** instead. They were about to make a hasty exit when Charles Lateur approached.

"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "I must say, I have never seen anything . . ."

"Monsieur Lateur," Marie-Christine stammered, afraid of what was to come next, "I can explain . . . I . . ."

"I was going to say, I have never seen anything so beautiful to accompany such an exquisite piece of music. Your dancing was enchanting to say the least." Charles informed her.

Marie-Christine turned to Erik and oddly enough she saw something she had not seen in quite some time. She saw him smile.

"Well Marie-Christine," Erik began. "Shall we take our leave?"

"I will hear no such thoughts!" Charles exclaimed.

Erik and Marie-Christine seemed to freeze in terror, both squeezing the other's hand tightly, afraid to let go. Sensing their emotions, Charles reassured them. "I meant to say, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner at my table.

"We would be delighted," Marie-Christine replied, although Erik's expression seemed to indicate something else. Perhaps it was apprehension? Nevertheless, both followed Charles Lateur as he led them to his dining room.

Upon entering, Marie-Christine and Erik were greeted with an opulence the likes of which they had not seen in either of their lifetimes. The room was rectangular in shape. Lush, red velvet curtains adorned the windows. They in turn were complimented by gold trim which was intricately patterned into the doorframes as well as the valances. A table, made of the most beautiful rosewood and covered by a cream colored tablecloth was positioned in the center of the room. Each place setting reflected the same exquisiteness evident throughout the room; gold plates, silverware and goblets. Even the glassware was trimmed in gold leaf.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Charles inquired of his two guests.

"I've never seen anything quite like it . . . ." was the only response Marie-Christine could offer. Erik said nothing, instead allowing his hand to rest comfortably around her waist. With a gentle nudge, he guided her forward as Charles led them to their seats. Moving forward, Marie-Christine found that she could not help but stare at the opulence presented before her at this moment in time. It was truly breathtaking. Her thoughts were interrupted by Erik's voice.

"Marie-Christine," he spoke as he held out a chair for her. Sitting down, she found herself lost in thought yet again. However, her momentary reverie was broken as Erik's hands gently caressed her shoulders, his touch stirring feelings within Marie-Christine's body. He was pushing the chair in after she had sat down and yet his hands seemed to rest longer than necessary on her shoulders. Her breathing hitched as Erik leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Enjoy . . ." he seemed to growl as he then placed a small but chaste kiss on her cheek, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

Looking to her left, Marie-Christine watched as Erik sat down beside her. She thought she was mistaken, but she could have sworn that she actually saw him . . . smirk. He was enjoying toying with her!

_Hmph!_ She mused. _Two can play at that game, Erik!_

Before Marie-Christine could put her plan into action, the first course of the dinner was placed before her - Le Salade de Jambon cru et Thon à la Sauce Pisteau - Proscuitto and ahi tuna seared with sauce. Taking her utensil, Marie-Christine savored the delicacy placed before her.

"Is it not unusual?" Charles Lateur asked of his guests, but no one answered. Then a voice spoke.

"Do you mean the tuna?" Erik responded. All eyes were now on this masked figure.

"Ah! Then you know it is not from this region." Charles seemed to take delight in presenting his guests with unique acquisitions to his vast estate.

"Yes, from the taste that is unusual, but still quite palatable, I would definitely say that this fish is from another region, perhaps outside of France altogether?" Erik was finding himself actually enjoying Charles' company. At first he was somewhat irritated that the man had dared to attain his work . . . his **_Don Juan Triumphant_** but now was not the time to ask.

"It's from . . . the west," was all that Charles would offer.

"It's quite delicious" and with those words Erik turned his attention back to Marie-Christine. Stealing a glance in her direction, Erik watched as she seemed to place all of her attention with the dish presented before her. There was no one with whom she could speak and so the only company Marie-Christine had was the plate placed before her.

"Allow me," Erik interjected as he took the small utensil from her hand. Erik then took a small portion of the tuna and brought it up to Marie-Christine's mouth. She couldn't believe what he was doing. He was actually going to feed her in front of everyone! Shock soon passed as Marie-Christine took the morsel into her mouth. Its taste was made all the more intoxicating by Erik's gesture.

"You have a little bit of food . . ." he noticed as he took a napkin to wipe away the small smidgen of tuna that rested at the corner of her mouth. His touch once again sent Marie-Christine's heart a fluttering.

"I . . . uh . . . thank you," she replied, a small sigh escaping her lips.

"You're quite welcome." Erik replied. He enjoyed the effect he was having upon her at the moment.

Their attention was diverted from each other as the next course arrived. It was La Fricassée d'Escargots et Ris de Veau à la Bourguignonne – Escargot in sauce with creamed veal on a baked wonton shell. Erik could not help but noticed the shell and its unusual texture.

"The shell is something I have never seen before," Erik commented as he waited for Charles' response.

"I see you are a man of many talents Monsieur . . ." Charles began.

"Erik" was the reply.

"Erik it is then. Yes, you are quite right. This shell was made from a recipe I purchased from the Orient. I find its taste to be a combination of sweetness but with a slight . . ."

"Panache" Erik offered.

"Yes. I think that describes it." Charles replied and then continued to visit with his other guests. Erik turned his attention back to the meal. Soon the next course arrive – Le Filet de Saumon fumée a la Maconnaise - Fragrant, fruity smoked salmon filet. The scent of the salmon slowly permeated throughout the room, drawing those who chose to partake of the aroma further into the culinary delights being offered before them this evening.

Erik watched as Marie-Christine took each morsel of the salmon and brought it to her lips, drawing the delicacy inward. It was as if she were lavishing her meal with . . .

"Would you like a taste?" Marie-Christine interrupted as she held forth a small piece of the salmon. Erik took the challenge and the opportunity. He grasped Marie-Christine's right hand with his left and took her offering, allowing his lips to draw the morsel inward, his eyes focused on Marie-Christine, piercing, penetrating, seeing into her inner soul . . . and more.

"Oh!" Marie-Christine found herself almost falling from her chair, but Erik caught her with his other hand. In the process though, her napkin fell from her lap.

"Allow me my dear," Erik replied as he leaned down to retrieve her napkin.

Marie-Christine assumed it would only be a second and yet . . . she felt . . . a hand! It gently caressed her right ankle and slowly made its way up the length of her calf. Then . . . it was gone. At that moment, Erik's head emerged from beneath the table.

"I do apologize. It seems you had your foot quite near the napkin, but fortunately you moved it." A slight smile emerged from beneath the mask Erik continued to wear.

"Thank you Erik . . . you're . . . too kind," was the only reply she could offer at the moment.

_Damn him! Why does he torment so? Does he not realize what I am feeling?_ And then, much became apparent to Marie-Christine. Erik **did know** what he was doing. Much to Marie-Christine's surprise, he was actually **flirting** with her! Even though most proper women would be enraged at such behavior, Marie-Christine found that she was becoming more and more . . . awakened.

The next dish to arrive in Charles' dinner was – Le Carre d'Agneau à la Bordelaise - Robust lamb chops in a wine sauce. Although still quite hungry, considering Erik had distracted her during the previous dish, Marie-Christine was determined to have her "cake" and "beat" him too! Leaning towards Erik, Marie-Christine whispered softly.

"May I have a taste?'

"Do you not have your own?" Erik countered; apparently delighted she had decided to join in this verbal tête-à-tête, a slight smile beginning to emerge from the corner of his mouth.

"But I find yours to much more appetizing," Marie-Christine answered, wanting to see how close Erik would allow her to approach.

"By all means then, do try mine if you find it that much more appealing." Erik held forth a small portion of the lamb for Marie-Christine to taste. As she leaned closer, her hand slipped and found itself resting on Erik's thigh; his strong muscular thigh. As Marie-Christine took the lamb into her mouth, she felt her hand slip further down Erik's thigh, more towards the inside until . . .

"Marie-Christine" Charles Lateur called out.

"WHAT?" she exclaimed as she pulled her hand back but not before she bumped it rather harshly against the dining table. She stifled a small cry from the throbbing her hand now felt as a result of her culinary "misadventure." Those around her could not help but smile at the young couple who were clearly "smitten" with one another.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation." He apologized.

"No . . . that's quite alright," she stammered as she tried to pull her hand away from Erik. "My hand slipped and. . ."

"You'll have to forgive my Marie-Christine," Erik began. "She sometimes stumbles when she least expects and I find myself playing the part of her . . . nursemaid." Marie-Christine was about to offer a retort when Erik took his hand to hers and placed a gentle kiss upon it. She felt that it was a kiss and so much more . . . of other things to come.

"Well then," Charles began. "You are indeed fortunate to have such a gentleman at your side."

Marie-Christine looked at Erik. His turned his attention back to the meal. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should offer a small retort or perhaps a comment with a touch of biting sarcasm. For the moment, she decided silence was best.

_All good things in due time Erik . . . in due time_, she mused.

The next course to arrive was simple - Salade Verte - Green salad. Little conversation passed between Marie-Christine and Erik but that did stop the other from stealing a glance when one thought the other was not looking. A burning fire was building within each of them and soon if was not quenched, the consequences would be something neither one would care to remember.

Before serving the dessert, it was time for the cheese course. Tonight's offering was rather elegant and yet quite simple – brie, camembert and goat cheese. Marie-Christine waited patiently, expecting that Erik would inquire as to her choice, but instead he placed a small portion of each of the cheeses offered onto his plate. Standing, he extended his hand towards her.

"Shall we?" he asked. Marie-Christine was not sure what he was thinking. It was not usual for a guest to leave before the dessert was served. Erik, though, was not a _usual_ guest.

"By all means, I shall follow where you desire," she answered.

Erik and Marie-Christine took their leave as the other guests continued to speak with one another; their topics ranging from the dinner of the night to politics and other discussions on interest. No one noticed the young couple as they made to their way to a small courtyard located to the left of the dining room.

Stepping out into the courtyard, the first thing to affect Marie-Christine was night air. Although not extremely cold, the chill was nevertheless felt. Seeing her reaction, Erik guided Marie-Christine to a small bench and then left for a moment. Returning only a minute later, he held in his hand a small shawl, that although it was not very thick, it did help to take away some of the chill she felt.

"Better?" he asked as he carefully draped the article around her shoulders. Marie-Christine nodded, unable to speak for the moment. She could not decide if it was the warmth of the shawl or the touch of Erik's hands that now took away some of the chill she felt earlier.

"Much. Did you forget the cheese?" she asked, wondering where he had left the plate.

"No. I decided that if we were to miss the remaining portion of the meal, then it would not be a good idea to partake of the cheese without something to wash away the aftertaste," he explained.

"Oh," Marie-Christine smiled, doing her best to stifle a small giggle.

Erik returned her smile as he took a seat beside her. For the better part of the evening, the two of them talked. Marie-Christine told stories of growing up, the tricks she and her sister used to play on the town children and the happy moments she remembered.

"I wish I could remember my happy times," Erik bowed his head, pushing back the hurt that threatened to return.

"Erik, the happy times are what you make of them. Do you want me to help you remember?" she presented.

Erik thought of her offer, not sure of what he should do. Marie-Christine broke his momentary reverie as he felt her hand on his unmasked cheek.

"Close your eyes," she beckoned. Erik hesitated. "Please?" she implored. Sighing, he acceded to her wish. Suddenly, visions came to Erik. At first he could not quite make them out clearly and then . . . he realized what Marie-Christine was doing. She was helping him to remember . . . to remember the good times. At first he thought they were with Christine, but that image faded quickly. Then, ever so slowly, one constant image returned over and over. She was like a guardian angel, protecting not only his physical but emotional well being too.

"You . . ." Erik then realized where his happiest moments lie. They were with Marie-Christine.

"Is that what you see?" she questioned, her hand still touching his cheek.

"You've been there for me; you've not allowed me to wallow in my self-pity. I tried to turn you away and yet you've never left me. Why?" Erik's eyes sought an answer. The question remained as to whether Marie-Christine could reply.

"Erik . . ." she began, a small lump rising in her throat. "I . . ."

"Oh THERE you two are!" A voice called out. It was Charles Lateur, holding a small plate in hand.

"Monsieur Lateur," Marie-Christine began.

« Charles, » he insisted. "Well I can see, you missed the fine cheeses that were served this evening."

"Charles, I can explain," Marie-Christine answered.

"There is no need my dear. I know exactly why you are here." He affirmed.

Both Erik and Marie-Christine froze once more, unsure of what statement Charles would make next.

"What would be our reason for attendance this evening?" Erik dared. If needed, he felt he could run away and perhaps take Marie-Christine with him. He shook his head, quickly dismissing the thought. He could not condemn Marie-Christine to such a life and yet at the same time, Erik began to realize one thing . . . he was beginning to think of life **with someone** and that someone **seemed to return the feelings** he had . . . **didn't she?**

"Well it's quite obvious to me, you're going to announce your engagement sometime soon I would gather," Charles proclaimed.

Marie-Christine suddenly began to choke. Erik did his best, gently tapping her on the back, hoping to dislodge whatever was causing her such distress. Charles ran off and quickly returned with a small glass of water.

"Here drink this," he instructed as he handed her the glass.

Marie-Christine took the container in hand and drank from it. Soon her coughing stopped and she seemed calm. Both Charles and Erik watched, seeking any further signs of trouble. They saw none. Charles then turned his attention back to the small plate he had laid nearby.

"I'm glad you're better now. Although, I know you missed our fine cheeses, I thought you would want to taste the dessert we had for the evening." Charles extended the plate forth.

"What are these?" Marie-Christine asked, her earlier pain replaced by curiosity of the dish in front of her at the moment.

"They are truffles my dear. Have you not tried them before?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid I've led a somewhat sheltered life." Marie-Christine bowed her head slightly.

"Well then, I shall leave them for you and Monsieur Erik. Enjoy the evening and . . . each other," and with a small smirk now adorning his face, Charles Lateur took his leave.

Marie-Christine turned back to Erik, who now held the plate in hand. She watched as he brought one to his lips and took a small bite. She could not help but be intrigued and intoxicated at the same time by what she saw. Marie-Christine found herself licking her lips in response.

"I take it you would like taste?" Erik asked, correction **teased**. Marie-Christine could do no more than nod and so Erik brought the truffle to her lips, allowing her to draw it inward. She also drew a bit of Erik's fingers as well.

"Mmm…delicious," she murmured, a slight moan escaping her lips in the process.

"And you do like the truffles as well my dear? I find that the pralines give it certain . . ." Erik couldn't seem to find the word needed to finish his thought.

"Panache," Marie-Christine offered.

"Panache indeed," and before Marie-Christine could utter another word, she soon found her lips covered by Erik's. The kiss had something she'd not felt before. There was love, caring, and . . . above all . . . this kiss held passion. Erik brought his hand to Marie-Christine's back and pulled her in closer to him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entrance, wanting to partake in all of the sweetness she possessed.

"Erik . . ." she moaned, the heat burning ever brighter within her body.

"Yes . . ." he whispered as she continued to taste the powdered chocolate from the truffles on her lips.

"We . . . should go . . . I cannot . . ." she couldn't finish her words, but Erik fully understood. He rose from the bench and within a short period of time, they bid Charles a good evening and soon were back in the comforts of the carriage that and brought them to their wondrous and almost magical evening.

Inside the carriage, Marie-Christine still felt the fire that burned within her body and now it had fully reached her soul. She turned to Erik and took his face in both hands, pulling his mask away.

"Marie-Christine," he protested, but to no avail.

"Erik, I love you . . . I want to love **all** of you . . ." she whispered in his ear. Her tongue darted out tracing along the outer edge of his jaw line. He groaned in response.

"You do not know what you ask . . ." he reminded her, but she was not listening.

"I know exactly what I want . . . I want . . . **you**," she spoke softly.

Erik finally could take no more. He turned and pulled Marie-Christine onto his lap, his hands beginning to fumble with the laces of her bodice. Marie-Christine in turn, placed her hand to his scared face and closed her eyes. Erik thought nothing of it as he continued to free her chemise from his confinement.

Next, he felt something. It was a warm sensation. At first, Erik did not realize what was happening. Then he looked at Marie-Christine . . . more specifically her cheek.

A scar was beginning to form.

"NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he cried out, but it was too late. She collapsed forward into his arms, her breathing faint and growing weaker at the moment. Erik knew she had done and now she had paid the price. He held her, not sure of what to do. Finally, he did the only thing he could do.

He cried.


	12. Chapter 12

_If you would cure anger, do not feed it. Say to yourself: 'I used to be angry every day; then every other day; now only every third or fourth day.' When you reach thirty days offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the gods. _

_Epictetus (55AD – 135 AD)_

Sacrifice is something all of us do at one point or another in our lives. Whether it is allowing a friend that moment of joy or pleasure, thereby putting our own needs behind that of the one individual, or perhaps the ultimate sacrifice – letting go of our one true love – even though you know your heart would break in two, sacrifice is something we all must deal with – either now or later.

For Erik the time had come sooner that he thought. Still cradling Marie-Christine in his arms, he called out for the driver to change his direction. There was only one person who could and who would help. He only hoped that she was at home.

"Please . . ." Erik whispered, listening to Marie-Christine's breathing growing more and more faint with each passing moment. "Please . . . don't die," he pleaded.

The carriage traveled faster and faster, the horses' gallop causing the carriage to rock just a bit. For Erik, it was still not fast enough. Turning his attention back to Marie-Christine, he did his best to smooth out her rumpled clothing, hoping to erase any hints of what had just occurred, of their near . . . encounter. He held her close to his chest; much like a father protecting his daughter, just like when took care of . . .

"No . . ." he whispered quietly. He knew he must not think of Christine. She was gone and now he had Marie-Christine. She was the present and Christine was the past.

Time had lost all meaning as he watched Marie-Christine hanging by a thread; her precious life seeming to slip away. The trip which had taken a few hours earlier seemed like an eternity at the moment. Erik's thoughts, though, were interrupted as the carriage came to a stop. Apparently, the trip back into Paris did not take as long as he thought. He opened the door of the carriage, still carrying Marie-Christine in his arms. Erik paid the driver and bid him goodnight. He then turned and proceeded to the back of the dress shop. Once there, Erik knocked on the door. No one answered. Fumbling again, still holding Marie-Christine in his arms, he knocked once more, this time with greater force.

Slowly the door opened. "Erik?" A familiar voice greeted him. It was Madame Giry.

"I am truly sorry for disturbing you this late at night but I am in need of your assistance." Erik asked.

Madame Giry looked down to see Erik cradling what appeared to be a young woman in his arms. At first glance, she thought of Christine, but quickly dismissed that thought as Christine was dead.

"This way," she motioned with her hand.

Erik followed as she led him up the small staircase towards her bedroom. He passed through the doorway and made his way to Madame Giry's bed. Placing Marie-Christine down, Erik paused for a moment. He was about to speak when Madame Giry put her hand to his lips.

"Shhh . . . speak softly. Your young friend needs rest. Now tell me what happened?" she asked.

Erik dwelled for a moment on how to explain things. Nevertheless, the evidence seemed to speak for itself. Giving him a look of exasperation, Madame Giry turned away and began to pull the shoes from Marie-Christine's small feet.

"I . . . we . . . were in the carriage . . . there was a dinner . . . she placed her hand to my face . . . she removed my mask . . . she touched that side of my face . . . my unmasked side . . ." Erik was at a loss for words.

"She tried to heal your face? Didn't she?" Madame Giry quickly surmised, as she pulled the covers of her bed over Marie-Christine's petite frame. She remembered the story of the extraordinary young lady that had saved Erik from almost certain death, and now it seemed that this young girl was the one whose life hanged in the balance.

"Yes, she did." Erik's voice grew quiet. He chided himself for allowing his emotions to rule his thoughts. For that one moment of pleasure, he now had to watch Marie-Christine suffered and possibly . . . die.

"Well," Madame Giry began. "She is breathing. From what I remember that you told me, her ability to heal you or anyone for that matter seemed to take away some of her energy. Therefore we can wait for one day. No one will be coming to the shop tomorrow."

"Why?" Erik asked.

"Tomorrow is Sunday. Did you forget Erik?" Madame Giry replied.

Erik thought for a moment. _Was today Saturday?_ He began to add up the days and it had almost been a week since that last night when he had seen Christine, when she and Raoul slowly drifted away in the boat, away from his lair, his life, his heart.

"Erik?" Madame Giry touched his shoulder. He looked up, sadness and uncertainty now adorning his face.

"Yes?" he answered a look of bewilderment worn on his face.

"She needs to rest and we need to talk. I have a feeling that there are many things you need to tell me."

"You are correct." Erik agreed.

Madame Giry began to descend the stairs, Erik following closely behind. Once at the bottom of the staircase, she motioned for Erik to continue on into the small living room. "Why don't I make some tea? You can have a seat."

"Some tea . . . would . . . be nice." Erik whispered; a slight quiver present in his voice.

Erik sat down, his body finally feeling the weight of all that had happened within the past view hours. Finally he could take no more and therefore he began to quietly sob, unable to stop the tears that now flowed freely.

Upon entering the small parlor, Madame Giry was bit taken aback to see Erik crying. The sobbing itself did not concern her but rather the fact that he seemed unable to stop himself.

"Erik?" she placed her hand to his shoulder. He looked up. It was then she realized what he was wearing. "Where did you go tonight? You're not wearing your normal attire."

Balefully, he told her about the night.

"Oh Erik, that was very risqué of you. Someone might have recognized you!" She could not believe the turn of events that he was relating to her!

"I know, but . . ." he turned and took a small sip of the tea, placing back on the tiny end table.

"Go on . . ." Madame Giry urged.

"We danced. It was the most incredible experience I could have ever imagined." A slight smile began to form at the corner of his lips as Erik thought of the pleasant memories of the night.

"You danced? Where did you ever learn to dance?" Madame Giry asked; a hint of surprise was quite evident in her voice.

"I had read books and with Marie-Christine, I just did what felt . . . right." Erik's voice lowered.

"You never cease to amaze me. What music was played that night?" She turned and took a sip from her tea and waited for an answer.

"It was . . . **_Don Juan Triumphant_**." Erik waited for a reply from Madame Giry. He wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

"MY GOD!" she exclaimed. "Where on earth did anyone find a copy of it? I thought they were all destroyed in the fire."

Erik then went on to relate the remaining events of the night, including the dinner to which they were invited. He did not leave out a single detail, including the elements of flirting in which both he and Marie-Christine engaged. All the while, Madame Giry listened and drank her tea. Finally she spoke once more.

"Erik? What do you want from Marie-Christine?'

Erik thought for moment. What _did he want from Marie-Christine? _ He'd come across her by happenstance. He'd many times he could have walked away and yet he did not. He was still here by her side and wanting more. The only question that truly remained was _what_ and _why?_

"I don't know. I guess that I . . ." Erik stumbled in trying to find the right words to express how he felt.

"Want more?" Madame Giry offered.

"I do want more, but I do not know if I am allowed to have that . . . more that is." Erik replied.

"You are allowed Erik whatever your heart desires. You are a living, breathing human being with dreams and needs that should be fulfilled. Do you think Marie-Christine wants more from you than friendship?" she waited for his answer.

"I do not know." Erik shook his head, a hint of disappointment showing through.

"How does she act when she is around you?" Madame pressed further.

"She's such a mixture of emotions. One moment, she can caring, the next she has actually raised her voice . . . to ME!" Erik seemed genuinely surprised that anyone would dare to raise his or her voice to him . . . The Phantom of the Opera.

Then, Erik found the tears that had disappeared earlier, coming back to flow freely down his cheek. "She has kissed me. Her kisses are like honey. They are so sweet, delicious, almost intoxicating. She has also saved . . . my soul."

"Erik? Have you ever thought that perhaps Marie-Christine sees the beauty WITHIN you?" Madame Giry paused for a moment and waited for Erik to answer.

"How can she? Or anyone for that matter love a monster?" he retorted in an attempt to brush the idea of love quickly from his mind.

"She doesn't love a monster." Madame Giry told him.

Erik looked perplexed by her statement, almost as if she were confirming his worst fears.

"She loves **YOU**."

The two of them sat in silence for some time. Finally it was Madame Giry who stood from her chair. "Erik, you can stay here the night. Tomorrow night, though, you and Marie-Christine will need to leave. The store opens on Monday morning and I cannot have unexpected guests."

"I understand. I will find . . . I will take care of Marie-Christine," he assured her.

"See that you do. If you would like, I can go with you and stay the night where you would wish. Perhaps by then Marie-Christine will have had sufficient rest and awaken." Madame Giry turned and retrieved a small blanket that was draped over a chair in the room.

_When she woke, the first thing Marie-Christine noticed was the smell of smoke. Although it was not overpowering, it was still quite pronounced. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, Marie-Christine stood and walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find she was back at the Opéra Populaire. Marie-Christine stepped through the doorway and onto the stage._

_As she moved closer, she took note of a gathering of people at the center of the stage. Little by little, their voices became clearer._

_"Kill him!" one voice cried out._

_"Burn him!" another shouted._

_"He doesn't deserved to live!" a third voice added._

_Marie-Christine focused her attention on the large object found in the middle of the stage. It was a wicker box . . . correction . . . a coffin. It was situated on a small pile of dry wood and some kindling. It took a moment, but she soon realized that there was someone inside the coffin. It was Erik._

_"What are you doing?" Marie-Christine called out. She made out a dark shadow of a figure. The unknown entity held in its hand a torch and it was lit! The mysterious form looked back at Marie-Christine but she could not make out the identity. Then, without warning, the torch was dropped and the coffin began to burn._

_"NO!" Marie-Christine cried out! She tried to move but for some reason found her feet suddenly immobile. She watched in horror as Erik was burned alive._

_"ERIK! NO! ERIK! NO! PLEASE!" She screamed and then . . ._

Erik burst into the room. He'd heard her cries from the sitting room and frantically raced up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Upon entering, Erik saw that Marie-Christine was still sobbing and screaming, unaware of his presence. He ran to her bedside and quickly took her into his arms.

"Marie-Christine," he whispered. "I'm here. Shhh…I'm here."

As much as he tried, Erik found that he could not calm Marie-Christine as quickly as he would have liked. She seemed to be living an almost waking nightmare; oblivious to his presence. Finally, he did the only thing he knew how to do – he began to sing. The song was a simple and yet hauntingly beautiful.

_La Belle s'est endormie sur un beau lit de roses . . ._

_Blanche comme la neige, belle comme le jour . . ._

_ils sont trois capitaines qui veulent lui faire la cour . . ._

Erik couldn't recall the origin of the song, but it served its purpose. He had heard it once before and that was all he remembered. Soon, Marie-Christine's tears and sobs subsided, her breathing became calm and then she was fast asleep in his arms.

It was at that moment that Erik noticed Madame Giry standing in the doorway to the room; a smile displayed on her face. Erik nodded his head; acknowledging her presence. Shifting his position, he laid out on the bed, still holding Marie-Christine in his arms. She did wake.

Madame Giry said nothing. She merely closed the door and allowed Erik and Marie-Christine something that had not enjoyed for quite some time – peace.

The next evening, it was time for Erik and Marie-Christine to return to his lair – home as it were for the moment. Madame Giry assisted in their journey as she procured a small open carriage in which they might travel. She assured Erik she would take the carriage back so that no one would notice it was missing.

Marie-Christine had yet to wake again or for the day. She slept throughout the day, but the color had returned to her cheeks and despite Erik's fears, Madame Giry reassured him that she was simply resting and would awaken in her own time. Releasing a breath, Erik placed her gently in the back of the open carriage and soon, he along with Madame Giry headed towards the Opéra Populaire.

The trip took did not seem to take much time. Erik once more had to go into the opera house through his "alternate entrance," but this did not surprise Madame Giry. She was quite aware of Erik's resourcefulness when needed. He placed Marie-Christine into the gondola, which he had previously left moored in his usual spot, and soon the three of them, Erik, Marie-Christine and Madame Giry were heading, down to his lair.

When they arrived, Erik assisted Madame Giry as she exited the gondola. He then leaned down and picked up Marie-Christine, keeping her close to his chest. It was as if her heartbeat was one with his. Erik carried Marie-Christine across the lair and to his bed chamber. Once there, he placed her gently into the bed and covered her small frame with a nearby blanket, allowing his hand to linger for a moment, holding her hand in his.

"Erik?" Madame Giry called out. She was watching the entire time.

"Yes?" He replied, his mind still lost in thought with Marie-Christine.

"There is nothing more that can be done. Now it is a question of when she will awaken," she informed him.

Erik knew she was right. There was nothing he could do. He could only wait and wonder one question . . .

_When?_

The answer to Erik's question came soon enough. He was not certain of the time, but that was of no concern to him. It was the sound of a body stirring that caught Erik's attention as well as her voice.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine called out, her voice barely audible. She tried to sit up but was unable to do so.

"You need to rest," he told her, almost scolding her in a fatherly tone. "That was rather foolish to do what you did. Do you realize . . ." but before Erik could finish, he was interrupted by Madame Giry who now stood just outside the bedchamber.

"Erik? Would you get some food for us? I'm sure Marie-Christine must be famished, given that she has not eaten for a day or so."

Erik looked at Madame Giry, about to argue, when he recognized something in her eyes. It was that "look" she'd given him so many times in the past. It was a "look" that said so much more. She obviously had something on her mind, but Erik also knew she would not say anything to him. He'd learned from past experiences growing up beneath the opera house, that it was best to do as she requested. Everything would be explained when she was ready and not a moment sooner.

"I shall return shortly, though I am not sure where I will find food this late at night," he offered.

"I'm sure you'll think of something Erik. I've known you to always be quite uh . . . how shall I put it . . . ?" Madame Giry paused for a moment, searching for the right word.

"Resourceful?" Erik replied.

"I'd like to think of you as adaptable." She countered.

Erik understood. He found his cloak and headed towards the exit. Madame Giry took this moment to sit down in a nearby chair. She pulled it closer to the bed, where Marie-Christine was resting.

"How are you doing my dear?" she began.

"You wanted to talk to me without Erik. Why?" Marie-Christine questioned.

"You are indeed intelligent. I can see why Erik is drawn to you." Madame Giry smiled.

"What do you mean drawn to me?" Marie-Christine responded.

"Then again, perhaps I was wrong. Tell me, what are your feelings regarding Erik?" Madame Giry's smile changed to a more serious tone.

"What do you mean my intentions?" Marie-Christine began to sit up but found she was still unable to do so without someone's help.

Madame Giry gave her an exasperated look. "Must I be blunt? Do you intend to marry him? Do you intend to raise a family with him? Or do you intend to use him and then when you are done, discard him as so many before have done?"

Marie-Christine shook her head. "I do not and will not **use** Erik as you have so rudely imagined. Do you think I am so crass as to think of him as nothing more than some object perhaps to sleep with for one night and then to dispose of the following morning? Do you even know me? How can you come to judge me? Do you understand that for so long I felt alone? Do you know what it's like to live with a deformity?"

"Erik certainly does," Madame Giry answered, sarcasm dripping in her voice.

"But do you know what it's like to live a life where I cannot be who I want? Where I always have to wear a mask and pretend to be something I am not? Imagine wanting the love of another man and yet I cannot have that. So I have resigned myself to the fact that no man would ever want me. Most would think of me as a freak of nature. None would ever bring me into their precious world of balls and dinners and dances. For them I am simply too strange. Sometimes I want to shut out the voices. I don't want to know what people are thinking. I don't want to be an oddity. I WANT TO BE LOVED!" Marie-Christine's cries now turned to tears.

"Then perhaps, you do understand Erik," was the only response Madame Giry offered. "Marie-Christine?" she whispered as she touched the young girl's arm. Marie-Christine looked up, tears still flowing down her cheeks.

"I just do not want to see Erik hurt. He has lived a life of pain with little joy. I thought perhaps Christine might have the **one** for him, but I was wrong. Now you are here and unbelievably Erik seems to have been given another chance . . . twice in his lifetime. If it meant to be with you then please love him, care for him, be there for him as a friend, a companion, and a . . ." once more Madame Giry was at a loss for words.

"Lover?" Marie-Christine finished. Madame Giry offered no answer.

No other words were spoken. The meaning was clear and Marie-Christine found that she had a new ally.

Erik was not certain of how long he'd been gone from the lair but the first thing he noticed when he returned was Madame Giry's absence. Marie-Christine was sitting up in the bed, her head propped against some of the pillows.

"Where is Madame Giry?" Erik asked as he placed some food on a nearby table.

"She said that she uh . . . had to get back to the shop. Apparently, there were things she needed to do for Monday." Marie-Christine hoped Erik would accept her explanation and not question her further.

"Well then . . . are you hungry?" Erik moved the small table close to the edge of the bed.

"Actually . . . I'm quite famished." Marie-Christine turned and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She then promptly fell back!

"ERIK!" She cried out, but it was more of a small laugh. He was immediately at her side, moving the pillows so that she was properly supported as she began to feast upon the snack he'd brought for the evening.

"Thank you." She told him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You are welcome. So what did you and Madame Giry talk about when I was gone?" Erik took a small bite of the bread he'd brought with him.

"Why do you say that?" Marie-Christine wondered if Erik had listened to their conversation. Perhaps he did not leave the lair? Perhaps he had the food with him all along?

"I am very familiar with Madame Giry and how while she may say one thing, she often means something that is very different." Erik waited to see what answer Marie-Christine would give to his reply.

"Well . . . we talked about . . . you." Marie-Christine responded as she reached for the small glass of wine Erik had poured for her.

"And . . . how did I become or what was the nature of your discussion of me?" Erik was growing more and more curious as to what was said during his absence.

"Madame Giry wished to know my intentions with regards to you." Marie-Christine bowed her head. She was wishing this conversation would end quickly.

"Your intentions . . . what did Madame Giry mean or more specifically what are **your intentions**?" Erik found that he was becoming amused. He took notice of Marie-Christine's discomfort, but he decided to press things further.

"She wished to know if we would marry or raise a family."

"She uh . . . I see and what did you tell her?" Erik did not know how to proceed as this conversation had taken an unexpected turn. He wanted to sigh.

_Damn Madame Giry and her infernal meddling!_ Then, he smiled. Erik knew that although her means did not often follow the norms of social etiquette, her heart was in the right place. She truly was a friend who looked out for him in the past, the present and now it seemed . . . the future.

"I told her . . ." Marie-Christine hesitated.

"Go on . . . what did you tell her?" Erik pressed.

"I told her that I would never hurt you and . . ." Marie-Christine stopped in mid-sentence once more.

"Finish . . ." Erik raised his voice.

"Erik, I don't want to . . ." Marie-Christine's voice quivered slightly.

"FINISH!" he growled at her, his impatience quite evident.

"I just wanted someone to love me." Her voice broke into a quiet sob.

Erik sighed. He wished he had not lost his temper. Although he had developed feelings for Marie-Christine is such a short time, he knew it would be best to correct things before they veered off on a course from which neither one might not return.

"Marie-Christine," he lowered his voice and lifted her chin with his hand. "Look at me." Her eyes were still closed and she shook her head. "Please?" he pleaded. She opened her eyes.

"This can never be," he began. "I am a monster and although I bear the semblance of a man, there can be no doubt as to the crimes I have committed in the past. I have extorted, murdered and terrorized people. How can you love someone such as me?"

Marie-Christine allowed Erik to wipe the tears from her face. She then broke contact and stretched her hand out to the masked side of his face. Slowly, she removed the mask and the wig that he wore with it. Her face did not flinch. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Erik on the lips. It was a gentle kiss. Marie-Christine then pulled back and spoke. "Erik? There is a man inside of you and **that** is the person with whom I have fallen in love. I am sorry, but I cannot change my feelings. If you must reject me, then I cannot stop you. Know this . . . if you cast me aside, then you will be yet another man who has tossed me aside and for me all I can and will think of is how you do not and cannot stand the sight of me."

"Marie-Christine that is not true." Erik interrupted.

"Please let me finish. Although I know my thoughts are not correct, they are my thoughts. Erik, I told you once before how you bore your scars on the outside. Please remember that mine are on the inside and sometimes . . . they run deeper. So do you what you feel is right, but for tonight, can you grant me one small favor?" Marie-Christine looked into his eyes, the impending tears held back by a wall of self determination.

"What would you have me do?" he answered.

"Please stay with me this evening. I do not want to be alone. I want to feel the warmth and comfort of a man's embrace, even if it is only for the night." Marie-Christine gently slid back to the other side of the bed.

Erik looked at the vision presented before him. Sighing, he removed his boots and shirt. He climbed into the bed and drew Marie-Christine into his embrace. She smiled.

"Are you comfortable my dear?" He knew if he looked one more time into her eyes, his heart would break.

"Yes thank you," she nodded as she closed her eyes. Erik wasn't sure how long it took but she fell asleep. Soon thereafter, so did Erik.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Marie-Christine was not sure of the time when she awakened but nevertheless, something had roused her from her slumber. She noticed that Erik was absent. She hoped he had not left her. Feeling a small lump in her throat, Marie-Christine did her best to put her worries to rest. Focusing her attention on what she now determined to be a noise of some sort, she realized that the sound was actually a medley. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gently stood. Her balance had returned somewhat and so she placed her hand against the wall to steady herself.

As she came out into the main chamber, Marie-Christine took notice of the source of the medley. It was Erik and he was play at the organ. The lyrics seemed to call to her. They were so . . . achingly . . . beautiful.

**_No one would listen_**

**_No one but her_**

_**Heard as the outcast hears**_

Slowly, Marie-Christine began to walk towards Erik. Her steps were small, her balance a bit tenuous, but she was making progress. Erik did not seem to notice her approach.

_**Shamed into solitude**_

_**Shunned by the multitude**_

_**I learned to listen**_

_**In my dark, my heart heard music**_

_**I long to teach the world**_

_**Rise up and reach the world**_

With each passing step, Marie-Christine found it more and more difficult to fight back the tears that were welling inside. Erik's song and medley spoke volumes to her in so many ways. She thought her own childhood and the isolation she felt. She had longed to have a friend or a companion, but no one dared to be that which she needed. No one wanted to be associated with a freak. As much as she wanted to break down and cry from the beauty of the song and the feelings it stirred within her, Marie-Christine chose to continue moving forward.

**_No one would listen_**

_**I alone could hear the music**_

Now, as she drew nearer, she could hear his music and it was . . . beautiful.

_**Then at last a voice in the gloom**_

_**Seemed to cry I hear you**_

_**I hear your voice**_

_**Your torment and your tears**_

_**She saw my loneliness**_

_**Shared in my emptiness**_

Although Marie-Christine knew the song was probably meant for Christine, it did not matter to her. The melody still resonated with her and she could hear so much of what she and Erik had shared now coming through as his hands brought forth the song.

_**No One Would Listen**_

**_No One but her_**

**_Heard as the outcast hears_**

Marie-Christine found that she was only inches away. His scent . . . a mixture of nutmeg and something else . . . was intoxicating. She felt light-headed but fought her body's desire to faint. She wondered why she had noticed this scent before.

_**No one would listen**_

_**No one but her**_

**_Heard as the outcast hears_**

Marie-Christine was now behind Erik. Hesitating, she extended her hand and touched his shoulder.

"Marie-Christine," he whispered as he turned to face her.

"I listened, Erik. That song was so beautiful. Would you play another one for me?" Marie-Christine looked at him, a longing apparent in her eyes.

"Well . . ." Erik paused, unsure if he would play again.

"Please?" she implored and she still stood behind him.

"Would it not be better for you to sit down?" he inquired.

"No, if you do not mind, I prefer to stand here." She replied, indicating her preference standing behind Erik.

Erik nodded his head and turned back to the organ. He thought for a minute. What song should he play? Although it was true that the present was what he should focus on, there was something to be said for the past. Placing his hands on the keys, the melody slowly came to life.

**_Night-time sharpens_**

_**Heightens each sensation**_

_**Darkness stirs and wakes imagination**_

_**Silently the senses abandon their defences**_

****Erik stopped for a moment; the touch of Marie-Christine's hands to his shoulders sent a surge of energy through his body. Her closeness, evident by the heat of her breath that he felt on the back of his neck, heightened his feelings even more.

"Marie-Christine . . ." he whispered, although it sounded more like a moan.

"Please continue Erik." She responded as she began to place small kisses along the back of his neck. Erik did his best, but Marie-Christine's assault on his senses complicated matters considerably.

**_Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor_**

_**Grasp it; sense it – tremulous and tender**_

****Her kisses were indeed tender. As Erik continued to play, Marie-Christine now focused her attention along Erik's jaw line, tracing her tongue along the edge, nipping at it with her teeth. Erik hissed in response, doing his best to focus on the music. Marie-Christine simply smiled and proceeded to his earlobes, nibbling and then tracing her tongue along the backside of Erik's right ear.

"CHRISTINE!" he hissed as he found his concentration slowly losing ground.

"Mmm . . . Erik, please play your song for me . . ." she moaned softly.

Erik cocked his head to the left, allowing Marie-Christine a more open avenue to his neck, but he had forgotten about her hands which were now opening his shirt. Gently, she ran her nails down the smoothness of Erik's chest, feeling the taut muscles contract in response to her touch. Then, she brought her hands back up, raking her nails along his chest and sending yet one more surge of excitement through Erik's body.

Erik was teetering on the brink of sweet oblivion and it was Marie-Christine who seemed intent on sending him over the edge.

"Marie-Christine . . ." he rasped, his voice throaty and barely able to utter a word.

"Erik . . ." she sighed as she turned his face to hers.

"You do not know what you are doing . . ." he stammered.

"Oh . . . but I do know what I am doing . . . I am . . . living . . ." she answered.

All rational thought left Erik's find with the next sensation he felt; that of Marie-Christine's hands at the opening of his trousers.


	13. Chapter 12A

_Man is tormented by no greater anxiety than to find someone quickly to whom he can hand over that great gift of freedom with which the ill-fated creature is born._

_**Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881)**_

The concept or idea of a gift has had many meanings to different people. For some, a gift is something we give to celebrate a holiday. Whether it is Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, or birthdays, there always seems to be a "reason for the season."

Other gifts can take on a more personal or deeper meaning. Sometimes it is the gift of education bestowed upon one individual by a benefactor. Other times, there can even be the gift of life in the wake of tragedy . . . the donation by family members of one person's heart and so forth to save the lives of many others.

Erik knew that Marie-Christine was about to give him the greatest gift a woman could offer – that of her mind, body and soul. She wanted to make love to him. Feeling her hands at the opening of his trousers quickly roused Erik from his momentary reverie. He took her small hands in his and spun her so that she now faced him.

"Do you know what you are doing?" he hissed, the painful throbbing in his loins growing greater with each passing moment.

"Yes . . ." she answered a strength he'd not heard before in her voice.

Erik was then surprised as Marie-Christine broke free from his grasp and walked away. She headed toward the small area of his lair where he had his drawings, paintings and other items of his past. Erik watched with a mixture of fascination and disbelief as Marie-Christine began to look through his items. She would pick a drawing, offer it a fleeting perusal and then place it back in its original position. This continued for a short while. Each time though, Erik could have sworn he caught Marie-Christine glancing at him, almost as if she were calling out to him with a single look.

Unable to stand the torture, Erik rose from his seat near the organ. Although each step was exquisitely painful, due in part to the tightness he felt in his trousers, he soon made his way to where Marie-Christine was situated and now he was directly behind her. Erik was about to speak when she turned and faced him.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine began.

"Yes," he answered as he did his best to concentrate.

'I have a question for you." She continued.

"A question . . .?" Erik was confused.

"It's about you."

"Me?" Erik seemed a bit taken aback at her admission.

"Actually you and me; Erik, I came to realize one thing," she paused as she took a sip from a nearby goblet of water.

"And that is?" Erik pressed further, curious as to where this conversation was heading and yet wanting to quench the fire she had lit within him.

"Although I've known you but a short time, you've been the most constant thing in my life. You're there . . . **always. **I just need to know one thing."

"What would that be?" Erik inquired as he arched his eyebrow.

A lump in her throat, Marie-Christine paused for a moment. Then she made her request. "I need to know that you'll be with me through everything, the coming days, the good times as well as the dark times. I need to know that you'll be there no matter what happens."

Erik stopped for a moment. This was something more than he could have ever imagined. Although her request was mysterious at best, Erik realized there was an almost hidden meaning to the words she spoke. She was not asking for just one night of physical pleasure. She was asking him to be with her for his life.

_Perhaps Madame Giry was right. Perhaps she does care for **ME** as me and can look past the monster I am._ Erik mused, thinking of how her request brought forth emotions he had not experienced in such a long time.

A small tear began to drift down his left cheek, but he was able to hold back the remaining tears of happiness that threatened to flood forward. "You do not have to ask **ME** such a question. I will always be here for you . . . now and **forever**.

Marie-Christine watched as Erik actually returned her smile. She was about to walk away from the small table that held Erik's many drawings, but was startled to find Erik blocking her path

"ERIK!" She was clearly startled, but not completely surprised.

"Marie-Christine," he whispered desire quite evident in his voice. The fire that had been smoldering was now raging within his soul.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice its own mixture of fear and excitement.

"I need you," he told her. If this was to be a night of requests, Erik did indeed have one that he wished fulfilled.

Marie-Christine felt Erik guide her with his body so that she was now situated in front of the small work table. He moved closer and she felt the edge of the table press into the back of her legs. The thinness of her nightshift did not provide much protection. Looking into Erik's eyes, she tried to reason with him, for what little good it did, "Erik, I know what you want."

"I need you. I **want** you," he replied as he gently lifted her onto the table. It would not merely be the physical coupling that Erik required, but the emotional bond that would come from the events of the night.

His words struck a nerve within Marie-Christine's body. As much as she craved his touch, she needed to remind him of one thing, "Erik, this is **not **a cure. You do know that right? You are a man to me. There is nothing to prove. I just want you to know that."

"I need you," he repeated as he placed one hand on each knee, inching them further and further apart until she was fully exposed to him. Slowly, he nipped at the sensitive part of her neck, producing a moan from within.

"Father used to say I never listened very well," she murmured as Erik continued his assault upon her senses; placing feather kisses along her brow, nose and her lips.

Squeezing his hips between her thighs, Marie-Christine reveled in the pleasure that coursed through her body. Although she was raised to take care of herself and be independent, there had been many times when she wished she could have found someone whom she could trust and to whom she could relinquish control. Erik was that man. Seeing how he took the initiative with her, Marie-Christine knew that his desire came from a want of a different sort; the need to be loved. That was not to say that she could not enjoy the physical pleasures of what was to come this evening.

Marie-Christine's thoughts were interrupted as she gasped for air, clutching Erik's hair in her hands; his mouth was diligently pulling at her hardened nipple through the thin fabric of her nightshift. He suckled with his mouth, eliciting a moan from Marie-Christine's lips. Erik's mouth left her momentarily as he blew a breath of warm air over the damp cloth, flicking her nipple with his thumb. He soon returned to her neglected breast.

Arching her hips in response to his "absence," Marie-Christine did her best to move closer to Erik's warm and hard body. She tried to capture his lips in hers, hoping for a searing kiss, but he dodged her advance.

"What do you want?" he growled, sensing the fire that he lit within Marie-Christine's being.

"You," she responded as she began to remove his shirt, finding that it clung to him like a second skin. She then gently pulled away his mask and the wig that went with it. Surprisingly Erik did not flinch at her gesture. He trusted her with his heart and soul. Tonight he knew that she would love him as a **man**.

"And?" Erik pressed as he brought Marie-Christine closer to his hardening arousal.

Marie-Christine cried out, desire making her faint. She kissed him boldly on the hollow of his throat, while she pulled his shirt down until he was free of it.

"I want you," Marie-Christine whimpered as she bit him lightly along his collarbone, her desire increasing as she felt his moan vibrate through his chest. "I want you inside me."

She scraped her teeth down his chest; flicking a tongue over his already hardened nipple. "On this table," she indicated as her hands dropped to his waist.

"I want you **_right now_**, Erik."

Taking the hem of her nightshift in his hands, Erik began to slide it up her legs with incredible slowness. When he reached her thighs, Erik moved her closer to him.

"Place your arms around my neck," he entreated, his eyes filled with an increasingly growing desire.

Marie-Christine inched forward, clutched at his shoulders, and rubbed her clothed but wet breasts over his naked chest. Erik continued to ease the fabric up over the curve of her buttocks, caressing her skin and allowing his hands to linger for a moment. Erik leaned forward and placed her back on the kitchen table.

"Raise your arms," he commanded as he pulled the garment up and off, tossing it to the ground. Marie-Christine was able to drink in Erik's spellbound expression as it traveled from her face and settled on her chest. He leaned forward again, hot mouth teasing each sensitized breast. Marie-Christine's hands stroked the curve of his back, tracing over his moist skin.

Marie-Christine's hands found some difficulty with the opening of his trousers. Erik provided assistance when she began sliding them down his hips. Marie-Christine leaned back on her elbows, watching as Erik shed his clothing, her eyes slightly glazed over with burning want. When the smooth muscles of Erik's body were revealed, he tugged Marie-Christine's hips to the edge of the table, sliding his fingers under the waistband of her undergarment, he began to gently pull them off and then he stopped. Marie-Christine regarded his teasing behavior with a ferocity he'd not seen before.

"Take them off," she growled as her eyelids trembled; growing heavier with each passing moment. Erik kneeled and gently pulled the silken undergarment slowly down her legs, his mouth following close behind. Suddenly, Marie-Christine became speechless as she found a scream trapped in her throat. Erik parted the folds near her curls with his fingers; delving inside with his tongue. Locking her legs around his neck, Marie-Christine laid back on the table, arching slightly with each touch his tongue made to her core. Erik continued to drink from her liquid depths, alternating his approach as he went deeper and deeper. At the same time, he massaged the sensitive skin at the back of her thighs.

Marie-Christine's body was afire; desire burning like she never felt before. Erik began to move his head from side to side, his stubble rubbing against her skin and reaching even deeper inside with his tongue. Delectable pressure twisted tighter and tighter until it she felt as if she would burst from the inside. Marie-Christine arched off the table, panting heavily as Erik's tongue continued to stroke her inner walls.

"Erik" she panted, her voice filled with want as he placed a kiss to each of her slightly chafed inner thighs. His silken length rubbed against her as he hovered over and planted his hands on each side of her body.

"Marie-Christine, what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I want you," she implored, still out of breath. Erik simply smiled down on her, eyes changed from passion. Marie-Christine added, "**_Now_**" as she clutched at his shoulders; pulling herself up from the table.

Erik rubbed the head of his hardened arousal against her tantalizing Marie-Christine before finally penetrating her. Clenching her teeth in frustration, Marie-Christine endured as Erik slid his silken length into her inch by inch. Marie-Christine was about to cry out from the combination of pleasure and pain his firm length was inducing, when Erik finally buried himself completely inside her.

"Harder, Erik," Marie-Christine ordered as she bit his earlobe passionately. He responded to her command as he pushed himself further into her heated core.

"Yes," she whispered as Erik began increasing the pace of his strokes. Marie-Christine bit near his jaw line, nipping at him once more when he moaned in response. She worried for a moment about the marks she would leave, but **_only for a moment_**. Erik drove into her mercilessly, but it wasn't enough to lessen the aching growing within her body. Marie-Christine wound her arms around his waist and cupped his buttocks, grinding into his intense thrusts.

Feeling her need, Erik paused for a moment, "Lie back." Marie-Christine looked into his eyes, her auburn hair fanned on the wooden table, and did as he instructed; trusting that he knew how to give her pleasure. Without breaking their intimacy, he gently pulled her calves up to rest on his shoulders. Marie-Christine felt a hitch in her breath as this new position allowed him to penetrate even further inside her body.

"_This is more than I could have ever imagined,"_ she thought, knowing Erik was thinking somewhere along the same lines.

Erik continued with such force, that Marie-Christine flung her arms out and grasped the edge of the small table. Erik secured her hips, pulling her against him as he continued his thrusts into her. Marie-Christine let out small gasps as he stroked one wall, twisting their hips as he moved, and stroked the other. His head was hitting her so deeply that Marie-Christine might have been worried about the wounds she might have to deal with later, had she not been taking pleasure in it so much.

No, _taking pleasure _was not the word. She felt his hardened arousal driving into her, felt him in every pore, every fiber of her being. Everything in her body ached to be near him, toward his straining muscles. Opening her eyes and gazing at his visage, framed by sweat-dampened locks of sandy-brown hair, Marie-Christine locked eyes with Erik once more as he took her over the edge; plunging her into a sweet abyss. As she contracted around him, Erik continued to thrust against her overly sensitized walls; the additional stimuli produced a soundless scream of supreme release.


	14. Chapter 12B

**12B**

_Ecstasy; it is defined as: **1. complete happiness; 2. paradise; 3. heaven; 4. a state of being beyond reason and self control; 5. a state of overwhelming emotion "especially" rapturous delight; 6. a mystic or prophetic trance. **We are in constant search for this elusive element. For each of us, our definition of ecstasy is quite different. To one person it can be the feelings that come from a romantic or sexual encounter. To another person, ecstasy can come from something as simple as a favorite dessert. For Marie-Christine and Erik, ecstasy was something they'd sought throughout their entire lives. The only question that really remained was whether they had found the joy which they had sought . . . or **was it just a dream?**_

Lying on the small table, her body releasing its final contraction, Marie-Christine slowly realized that Erik was still hard within her body. _'Unbelievable,'_ she thought. _'He wanted me to come, to truly feel pleasure. He still hasn't.'_ In truth, he expanded even more within her walls, causing a friction the likes of which she had never experienced.

Marie-Christine moved her hips a little and was pleased with the moan that came from Erik. He threw his head back, exposing his neck and although as tempting as it was, Marie-Christine had other ideas.

"Chaise-lounge," she whispered, the breath of her words sending a shiver through Erik's body. With a single look in his eyes, Erik gently picked Marie-Christine off of the table, carrying her in his arms, as he made his way to the chaise-lounge. Marie-Christine almost lost control as her full weight pressed Erik's hard arousal into her.

"Oh my god," she murmured as she placed her arms around Erik's neck to support herself. Erik lifted her and turned to a small chaise-lounge located to near the bedchamber. Each step became of a mixture of pleasure and pain for both Marie-Christine and Erik; the line becoming more and more blurred. Collapsing into the chaise-lounge, he allowed Marie-Christine's weight at their joined hips to drive his hardened shaft even deeper inside. Marie-Christine sat still, not moving a muscle, on his muscular thighs, breathing into his marked neck. "You are evil," she gasped when her lungs began to function once more. He laughed into the hollow of her throat when Marie-Christine pulled herself up. She smiled in return and placed her hands on the back of the lounge. Planting her heels into the lower half of the chaise-lounge, smiling without mercy as Erik's small laugh soon became a moan; Marie-Christine decided it was time to take things to the next level. Erik, in return, did not mind playing **_this _**game with her. His mouth tugged at her left breast in reprisal, her position giving him perfect access to suckle at her very peaked nipples. Marie-Christine used both her arms and legs to position herself up as she ground down on Erik's pulsing manhood. Taking the tips of her breast into his mouth, grazing gently with his teeth, licking lines up and across with his tongue, Erik watched as Marie-Christine arched her neck back; riding him harder, pulling herself down on him and squeezing with her inner muscles. His teeth found her neck, stinging her skin, to Marie-Christine's voracious gratification. In response, she increased her pace, Erik's hands guiding her hips as they began their rhythmic dance. Driving upwards to meet her downward thrust, biting along her shoulder each time she moved her hips, Erik found he was about to go over the edge into that sweet abyss of ecstasy.

Spreading her thighs wider and arching her back even more, Marie-Christine allowed Erik to penetrate even deeper. His hot breath at her neck set her passion afire once more. She pressed her aroused breasts into his chest, feeling his erection jump when her hardened nipples made contact with his chest. Their rhythmic dance continued; their breathing became labored, moans and gasps filled the air; their bodies sheeted with the glow of their lovemaking. Marie-Christine pushed down on Erik quickly; moving her hips in an effort for his release.

Feeling his muscles quivering beneath her, Marie-Christine decided to give one final thrust. She wedged her knees to the inner sides of the chaise-lounge and arched backwards until her lower back came in contact with Erik's thighs. He was deep inside with, his hard shaft rubbing against her nub.

"'Marie-Christine," he gasped, his voice guttural and deep. Her walls clamped around his arousal, thighs pressing into his waist as she used her abdominal muscles to pull herself back up once more. When she rose once more, that was **it**. The edge, on which Erik had been teetering so precariously moments ago, was no longer there; only a sweet sense of **ecstasy**. Marie-Christine came and so did Erik. His body shuddered as the waves of pleasure washed over his form. Their shared union was as aggressive as their lovemaking; their muscles drawn taut as the spasms of her inner muscles closed around his pulsating erection. Deep sighs ravaged their lungs and they trembled together.

Erik wrapped his arms around Marie-Christine's lower back and drew her close to him; she collapsed against his chest, her lovemaking with Erik was more than she could have ever imagined.

Lying in the chaise-lounge for what seemed like an eternity; locked in each other's embrace, Marie-Christine and Erik felt rather weak, and yet pleasantly satisfied. Brushing Marie-Christine's tangled mess of hair from her face; he soon discovered a somewhat mischievous grin adorning her visage. Her eyes closed; her breathing deep and regular, Erik sensed that she was awake. Placing a small kiss on her forehead, he did his best not to move. In his current state, another shudder of Marie-Christine's hips would send the two of them literally over the edge.

"Erik?" she sighed, her face aglow with the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

"Yes Marie-Christine?"

"Tighter . . . hold me . . . tighter" she pleaded; her voice lowering a notch as she snuggled against Erik, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"I didn't want to cause you pain," Erik said as he raised his hand and began tracing the marks left behind on her throat, neck, and her breasts.

Her eyelids fluttering opened and Marie-Christine smiled. "I won't break, Erik. Even if I did, I'd **_really_** enjoy it."

Erik had no reply; he simply continued stroking her hair, gently lifting up the strands and letting them slowly fall down to her flushed skin. Her fingers inched up to his shoulders. Marie-Christine maneuvered herself and skillfully licked the rough spot she had produced earlier. Erik's response encouraged Marie-Christine to repeat her previous action, moving along his shoulder to his neck.

"Marie-Christine . . ." he groaned, his mind unable to utter few words. "Don't . . . oh god please . . ."

Marie-Christine's eyes widened in surprise; she could feel Erik stirring inside her once more. Looking down into his eyes, she showed her surprise and the pleasure that was soon to follow.

"Yes, Erik," Marie-Christine murmured. "Yes." Leaning down, she kissed him dreamily, moving against him with deliberate slowness. Erik came to life inside Marie-Christine, filling her once again. Marie-Christine felt his muscles respond; gazing at him; a question filled her eyes. Erik searched her face and leaned forward. Carefully, he extricated himself from the chaise-lounge and stood up; Marie-Christine still locked in his embrace. Hanging onto his neck, she shivered as Erik began walking towards the bedchamber.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine asked, her eyes widening at the unbelievable stamina of the two of them. She saw his roguish grin and braced herself as Erik took the first step forward. The friction created with each step, while buried inside her elicited rather delectable sensations. Each step forward produced a small thrust against Marie-Christine's inner walls. However, they were too short. She placed her head against his chest, sighing deeply at each torturing slow step.

When they reached the bedchamber, Marie-Christine held back no more. Her muscles contracted around him in a gentle, very slow climax. She saw his beautifully piercing eyes through her heavy eyelids. She felt his hands on her skin. Erik continued to carry her into the bedchamber kneeling on the bed. Marie-Christine felt the softness of the sheets on her back as he lowered her down. She cried out when his full weight shifted so they were both lying on their sides; their dance never ceasing. Erik tangled his legs in hers, brushing her exposed skin with his fingertips. Marie-Christine burrowed into him, tangling her fingers in his hair and resting her foot on the back of his leg.

The feelings that both of them were experiencing were highly erotic . . . this slow rocking of hips, the kisses, the sexual connection that was never broken. Their over sensitized skins touched from head to toe . . . their eyes were locked, half-lidded, pupils dilated . . . lips kissing softly, limbs intertwined . . .they moved together through the night.

It was pure . . . ecstasy.


	15. Chapter 13

Morning crept in, much like an unwanted guest. However, no typical sounds of the early dawn were found in Erik's lair. Neither the melody of birds singing to one another, nor the calls of street vendors selling their fresh pastries could penetrate into the depths of his private sanctuary. By all accounts, Erik should have been able to fall asleep once more and yet for some unknown reason, he could not.

As much as Erik did not want to admit it, the reason for his insomnia was lying beside him. Turning onto his side, Erik regarded the sleeping form of Marie-Christine. A sense of contentment filled his soul. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and propped himself up on his elbow. Watching the peaceful way in which she slept, her breathing becoming quite rhythmic in nature, Erik recalled the events of the previous night.

Even though he did not wish to acknowledge his feelings for Marie-Christine, he found that he could no longer ignore them. Marie-Christine did not help in this matter either. Her boldness both shocked and excited Erik in ways he could not have imagined. Her reactions to his touch only heightened Erik's excitement further. Their joining was something that Erik would have thought by no means possible. Although she would never know it, Marie-Christine was the first woman with whom Erik had shared his bed. He almost had Christine once . . . long ago . . . but then things changed. That however, was the past and as Marie-Christine would often remind him, it was better to look towards the future.

He continued to contemplate their night together along with what would happen next, and Erik soon found his head was beginning to throb. Pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to stem the impending headache, Erik began to think.

_Is there any future for Marie-Christine with me?_

The question was one that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not make disappear. _Could he have a future with Marie-Christine? What kind of future would it be?_ Erik thought back to the time when he almost killed Raoul to force Christine to stay with him. _Did he really want to condemn Marie-Christine to a life of shadows and darkness? What kind of life would that be? What could he give her? What of children?_ Although the thought of children gave Erik a momentary hint of pleasure, he could not and would not risk the chance that his child would be born as he was and therefore subjected to the same existence in which he now lived.

The more Erik tried **not** to think of Marie-Christine, the more she invaded his every thought. He placed his head in his hands, feeling a small tear cascade down his right cheek. Erik doubted that he would ever know the answer to a question that plagued him since the day he was born.

_Why does love hurt so much?_

Just then, Erik's thoughts were interrupted by the touch of a hand at his back, accompanied by a gentle and soothing voice.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine whispered; sleepiness still evident in her voice. She smiled at him.

"Good morning," he answered as he turned to face her. He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. Marie-Christine slowly extended her hand, catching one that flowed down his visage.

"You've been crying." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

Erik quickly wiped the remaining tears away and brought forth a smile. He reached for his mask, but Marie-Christine took his hand in hers.

"You do not need to do that," she told him. "I love you as you are Erik."

Erik did not speak. He could not. To have a vision as beautiful as Marie-Christine admit her love for him was something he could not have imagined.

"How can you love . . . a monster?" he asked, a pleading look quite evident in his eyes, tears welling up once more.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine whispered gently. "You are not a monster. You are the man I love."

The damn was broke. Erik did not respond but instead began to weep. The sobs started softly and grew, becoming louder. Marie-Christine drew Erik to her bosom, offering comfort as best she could. Marie-Christine began to stroke his cheek, paying no attention as to whether it was the scarred side or not.

"Shhh…Erik. Everything will be fine. You gave me more than I could have ever asked for in my life. For the first time, I am truly happy Erik, happy that you came into my life, happy to have come to know you, and happy to be with you for the rest of . . ."

Marie-Christine suddenly broke contact with Erik, a look of puzzlement adorning her face. That look soon changed to what appeared to be . . . anger? A stern looked now crossed Marie-Christine's face. Erik was equally confused.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine began, her brow furrowed as she stared at him.

"Yes?" Erik answered, not sure of what she going to say, but then he realized his mistake. His emotions were like an open book to Marie-Christine and at the moment, she'd found the page on which he had placed himself.

"How dare you . . ." she spoke in an irritated voice. "How dare you think to leave me after all that we have been through. I cannot believe that you would . . ."

"Marie-Christine," Erik interrupted. "Allow me to explain please?"

"Explain? What is there to explain? You were planning to leave me! Into how many pieces would you break my heart? I thought you knew me and you loved me! I thought you cared about me? How could you . . . ?" Marie-Christine's voice quivered with each passing question and accusation.

"LISTEN!" Erik shouted, startling Marie-Christine as he firmly took hold of her, his hands placed on each of her arms. "You do not know . . ." his voice suddenly retreated to that of a whisper, realizing that his temper had gotten the better of him. He relaxed his hold.

"I want to know . . ." Marie-Christine responded, her body relaxing, the tension she felt moments ago slowly ebbing away. She pulled a blanket up around her body, the chill of the lair causing her to shiver somewhat.

Erik turned and looked at Marie-Christine. He sat back on the bed, propping himself up into a sitting position. Erik pulled her into his embrace, his massive arms enveloping her, the warmth of his body comforting hers. Finally, he sighed. "I will try to explain, but all I ask is that you grant me a modicum of patience." He looked into her eyes seeking answer. She nodded her head.

"Everything that I have touched in my life has died. I am afraid of what will happen to you if we were to continue our liaison." Erik waited for a response.

"I do not understand," Marie-Christine answered. She looked into his eyes. "I do not mean to be trying but Erik; I truly do not understand what you mean."

Erik sighed once more, hoping he could make his thoughts clear. "From the moment I was born, everyone that I have loved in my life has died before it was their time. First, there was my mother. While it is true she did not perish giving birth to me, she made it quite clear that she'd wished she had not lived. Each passing day of my existence was very much like a painful reminder of the abomination that came from her womb."

"Your mother never saw beyond the physical aspect of your beauty Erik. Your soul . . ." Marie-Christine nestled herself further into Erik's arms, placing her arm across his chest.

"But there is more, and I know you are quite well of the circumstance of events at the Opéra Populaire." Erik closed his eyes for a moment and allowed the memories of Christine to trickle back.

"I am aware of what occurred, but Erik, Christine did not die at the Opéra Populaire. Granted, you did kill, but I have looked deep within your soul and what I have found is a gentle being that simply needs to be loved. Why will you not allow me to be that person?"

"If I love you . . . then you will . . . just like Christine . . ." Erik could not finish his sentence.

"Erik, I will not die. I am long past dying." Marie-Christine assured him.

"What do you mean?" he questioned.

"Well then I would venture to say that it is my turn to explain things. Erik, for a good portion of my life, I have stood looking out, allowing life to pass me by. Each year on my birthday, I try to tell myself that this year will be different. I will attempt new things, meet people I have not seen before, visit places to which I have never been." Marie-Christine paused for a moment, a small lump formed in her throat.

"And you have changed," Erik interjected.

"No, I did not. Nothing truly changed until the day you entered my life. I knew I wanted to take control of my life but there seemed to be no reason. Now things are different." A small tear began to glide down Marie-Christine's cheek. Erik caught it on the tip of his finger and brought it to his lips. It was salty.

"Please continue." Erik requested.

"Erik, you have stirred within me, emotions I have never felt. I have been shocked, surprised, appalled, angry, brought to the brink of tears and . . . to the brink of ecstasy. From the moment you entered my life, nothing has been the same and . . ." she paused for a moment.

"And . . . what?" Erik looked into Marie-Christine's eyes. He was afraid of her answer.

"I love these feelings and as I have said so many times Erik . . . I love you." With those words, Marie-Christine drew Erik's lips to hers. The kiss was sweet and tender. It had the taste of fresh morning dew. There was a passion much like before, but now, it was as if Erik could sense not only the delight but the love that Marie-Christine had long tried to make him understand.

They paused for a moment, realizing that they'd been caught up once more in their emotions. It was then that Marie-Christine spoke. "I have a solution."

Erik watched as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, not bothering to cover her naked form. Her boldness again surprised and excited Erik at the same time. He looked on as she made her way to one of the small chests on the bedchamber floor. Marie-Christine knelt down and began to rummage through the chest, searching for something it appeared, but Erik could not figure out what it is that she sought. Finally she stood up and turned to him, one hand behind her back, a triumphant smile adorning her face.

Erik waited as Marie-Christine made her way to his side of the bed, curious as to what she held behind her back. Extending her left hand forward, she took his right hand in hers and brought forth the surprise. It was a ring, a piece of costume jewelry but a ring nonetheless. "Erik . . ." she began. "Will you marry me?"

He did not know what to think. Erik did not move. This was something he could have never predicted that Marie-Christine would have done. _She wants to marry me? Why? I cannot understand . . ._ It was true that Erik did not comprehend Marie-Christine's motive.

"Erik?" she looked at him, waiting for an answer.

"I . . . uh . . ." he stammered, unable to produce no more than a few syllables from his lips.

"You do not wish . . . ?" Marie-Christine started to cry. She quickly turned and ran from the bedchamber, taking a small blanket with her to cover her nude form.

Erik now realized what she thought and he also knew he was about to make the most horrific of mistakes if he did not correct things immediately. Putting a robe on, he made his way across the lair to where he found Marie-Christine sobbing. She was seated at the organ. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the table nearby. This was where they had made love. This was where they . . .

_You know what must be done. It is time to move on with the future and it is with Marie-Christine._

Erik took his attention away from Marie-Christine for a moment and opened a small drawer of one of the work tables. Turning back to Marie-Christine, he walked over the organ and sat beside her. Erik drew her to his side, whispering softly, hoping to ease her pain.

"Marie . . ." he spoke softly.

"It is okay, Erik. I can understand. I'm used to rejection and to being alone. I will remove my things so that you may . . ." but Marie-Christine was not allowed to finish. Erik had placed his index finger to her lips.

"No, I am afraid you do not understand everything," he told her. Marie-Christine watched as he took her left hand in his and placed a ring on her finger. It was the ring that belonged to Christine.

"I know this is not exactly as things should be. This ring has been a source of sorrow and pain in the past. I would like to start anew and have it become a ring of happiness and joy for the two of us. Marie-Christine, will you marry me?" Erik's heart skipped a beat as he waited for her response.

"Erik . . . I cannot . . . I uh . . . oh my god . . ."


End file.
